Remorse Poem by Ranju Mozammel Haque

We did not talk.
Strange, we did not say a word to each other!
If we talked, I could have told her why so much of this amour-propre
Why I am no more a mundane soul.
I could have told her about the stranglehold
That thousands of strings were slowly groping my egotistic, arrogant throat.
The generic disdain of self-annihilation and the diaspora of guilty feelings -
I could have told all that was obscuring her from me.
I lurk around her, conjure up to tell my hate speech -
The agony I endure, the pervading wound,
The bruise caused by the enamored love bites, proof of our wild stigma.
If we talked, I could have told her everything -
About the audacious numb words - doodling up from the depth of delirium,
The sedated empty conversation soaked in the gloom.
Or else, if we talked, I could have chirruped love verses only.
The aroma of our love affair would have engulfed a thousand miles.
In our dreams we could have ridden on rainclouds adorned with silver lining -
We could have braced each other tight and eluded this cacophony of life.
If we somehow talked, I could have crooned to her ears all my remorse
That she awarded me this excruciating pain
By simply ignoring my vast presence in her wobbly life.