Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

I will no longer be a buyer.

I will no longer be a buyer.
Of flowers.
Not on any occasion.
They have outlived me.
They have outlived their autumn.
Spring they sprung from.
But in your bosom they slept.
They won't awaken.
They refuse to die.
They refuse to live.
They tell me they were never born.
Easter, May, June, December, Christmas
7th 9th 26th the numbers they are not accountants
They refuse
I cannot convince them
You won't
Who will
No one
No body knows
No body will
But our two bodies,
No we don't have bodies,
We don't have a form,
We are the mist,
Of the oceans kiss
The moons eclipse
The suns whisper
The evening star
The rising altar
Where we wed
In the crimson of your red
In the eyes of your brilliant mad lusty rust
Your locks wanton and free
Just as my words flowing free
You won't kiss me
You won't take me
I will wait for thee
Till the moon is as red
As violent
As hot
As ebullient
As nasty
As horrendous
As the uncouth sun can be

Submitted: Thursday, March 28, 2013
Edited: Thursday, March 28, 2013

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Comments about this poem (I will no longer be a buyer. by Hardik Vaidya )

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  • Thomas A Robinson (3/28/2013 3:39:00 PM)

    Supriya beloved has a number of one in numerology. So I am confused to how you
    choose the number two. But I am not confused to the content and passion of the poem.
    Well done Hardik. (Report) Reply

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