Love Of A Sensitive Fool Poem by Abhay Vignesh Liginlal

My eyes are flooded with tears with love for you
As emotions from many lives, brimming to the surface
I am born again and again, to play the role of a love struck fool
Who hugs the choice of destiny as a poet who is blind
Whose love alone remains firm in a solitary life,
Your face is a portrait, made out of colours of fancy
Etched indelibly in the depths of my heart;

I have often hidden in the shade and watched you,
I have always loved you from remote space,
My love melts away into respect as you come near me
While I keep drinking from the bottomless well of dreams
To quench my thirst of solitude,
My love keeps growing each day
As I try to reach out to you
Through my many lines in rhyme,
My love is the moon in the sky
While your love is a star beyond the sun
Hidden within each day as my delusion
In a life which is all but an illusion;

My boat swings to and fro
As fate conspires to sink this love,
I pray every hour for its fulfillment
As I remain in the shadow of blind hope,
You will love someone in life
While it is you whom I keep loving,
I dare not promise the rarest of love, for I am just a poet
I can only ask you to set to music, these lyrics;

I never stuttered in your presence the first time we met
The best flowers take time to blossom,
My loveable songs have bloomed only now,
My dreams about our love are closest to reality, for just me
Yet there is only a bridge to be crossed,
You are still on the other shore but there is only a stream in between
For I can see you from this side of the bank,
Lost lovers are separated by a mighty ocean;

You hide your face within a veil today
Concealing your feelings within a mask, your face
Your countless expressions leave me perplexed,
Trapped in a devious maze of passions
Struggling in the grips of the ivy call love
I stretch my hands to free myself
But the grip grows tighter with every attempt,
What seeds of doubt are sown in your precious little head
My every effort is to sink them in a flood of discretion
I only hope that no bud has already blossomed, into a wild flower of hatred.