Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

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

Love is never Democratic.


I am running out.
I am tired and about to stop and doubt.
I am devastated by the slap of your soft sound.
I am boiling away to cleanse my last reaming doubts.
I am me, your only wild fire of blasphemy.
The only forest who chose to be alight,
In delight,
For your night,
For your eternal day light.
You do not want my torch,
You did not want me to burn,
You did not want me to engulf the fire of my substance,
But you are not the only one,
I too am.
I too have a right.
On your divine and blessed infinite nights.

Submitted: Tuesday, March 12, 2013

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  • Hardik Vaidya (3/13/2013 12:57:00 PM)

    Hi savi, in matters of deep and eternal love, and in poetry, its always better to leave it half said, the stakes are high, lot to loose, but what is love without wanton wild muse? Thanks your kind appreciation. (Report) Reply

  • Savita Tyagi (3/12/2013 9:43:00 AM)

    I really liked the rhythm and composition shrouded in mysterious words. Here we have just pointers and no clear signs. For some reason the image of moth flying to candle crossed my mind. then again I cross it out! Lovely poem. (Report) Reply

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