The Ardent Anguish!
My time waits with frustration's night,
My casting eyes are but drought for your sight
My lone hut, loses its art, in pitiable plight
And my vacation is sick without your ride.
Your invisible messengers herald your advent,
Your distant voice, and sudden flashes ensure,
Your self -revealed image surely affirms,
I would not be deprived of your love, you would come.
Mine is waiting for the Godot, perhaps a timeless wait,
I have signed my lot to you, why care for the Fate?
The pangs for separation, and joy of would-be union,
Like desert and oasis season my abstract saturation.
In a fine morning flower would bloom and cuckoo sing,
New weather would flourish, and prevail the Spring,