A Dirge For My Sweetheart Poem by Amar Agarwala

When I pass by her courtyard
And the crypt where she lies,
Strange as it may sound to you
I hear her muffled cries.

I know for her its harder
Being away from me,
Sepulchered in this graveyard
Where she's supposed to be.

I feel she is wide awake
Teary eyes green and grey,
Dark auburn hair all tied up
Fair fingers clasped in pray.

Wish the lilacs I carry
Their mauve and purple hue,
Help to lessen her traumas
That stick to her like glue.

I implore it placates her
And balms her withered heart,
Which carries dreams unfulfilled
Her undone piece of art.

My presence may assuage her
As I sit near her grave,
Her epitaph reminiscent
Their verses sweet and brave.

‘I still live deep in your heart
Know this beloved dear,
I've never been far away
For I've always been near.'

I know the words are ominous
For they soundlessly say -
‘I shall kiss you through grass-blades
And orchids smiling gay.'

I never bid her farewell
Nor let my tears purge,
Now I sing her lullabies
For I sang not her dirge.
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