such threadbare lines to write of you;
the weft and warp of life undoes.
an image lost in coloured strands,
fuzzy with time and old worn paths.
how often roads and lanes and tracks
meander in thoughts or printed black on white,
sketched on rough paper to capture what?
a romanticized version of you, washed clean.
sometimes the fault lies with me
at others with you but the jigsaw of our lives,
snippets that fail to coalesce like shifting mist
burnt away by too hot thoughts will lie in distorted truths.
love does wash away the faults replaced by virtues,
the model or pattern call it what you will misplaced.
the error of time reflects not well
and makes a devil of me a saint of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Loved reading your beautiful poem, the last two lines particularly impressed me.