Blue Serenade Poem by Ananta Madhavan

Leave me a whisper in the wind
Or a fragrance from your tresses,
Some fugitive signature of love
To trap within my splintered mind.


Avid of treasured tokens, this
Hoarder, miser, stamp-collector,
Can still command a thought to flush
The finger-tips that burnt your face


When first we touched the molten day
And leaped to wildness, crag and creeper,
Stone will be more than stone, tree more than tree
If you could leave me but a whisper, love.