Because She Isn't Tangerine. Poem by Poireinganba Ningombam

I feel sad for this poor baby pink blossom,
for she thinks she is ugly,
because she isn't tangerine like the others beside her.
Never does she know she's the one who has got my heart,
the one that captivates my mind,
the only one who swirls my world
with butterflies swarm.

I have stayed desperate
a hundred days and a thousand nights.
Cuddling up beneath her feet-
Hoping and praying, someday she shall see herself
from my eyes.
And if so, she shall see a damsel
as enchanting as I see of her.

I wrote a cartload of letters in poetry,
of her, and to her-
Of how beautiful a soul she is.
Never have they creak a note inside her head.
Never have I won her heart, and never shall I,
for she finds no love for herself,
and it is what that breaks my heart into half a dozen pieces.

But, I can't stay here forever,
'I have miles to go before I sleep'.
So shall I take a handful of her, to wherever my soul strays.
But, in all honesty, I feel sad, for she shall never see-
What an art she is!
Oh how heavy my heart weighs, as I think-
How beautifully I have failed again.