wove over our heads,
under that margosa tree,
in that june afternoon
outside
your Jyoti vihar hostel,
all the while drawing webs
on the fresh rain swept
earth
with your left
index finger,
still holds my love!
years have gone by,
seasons have
weather beaten
my madness for you
to mellowed sweetness,
still the tapestry holds,
sweet heart.
underneath though
you no longer share my space,
still the madness
for the silent
unspoken nah-nahs
unsettles me,
that mad afternoon,
our last meeting
under the magosa foliage,
is
a voting dot
on my finger tip,
the
Empress of my heart,
it is futile
to seek another
one.
..atp..27.03.2008.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'It is futile to seek another one.' Is it true! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !