The Impossible Soul-Mate Poem by Monsur Titilope

How I delve every nook and cranny,
To answer a call in her loud whispers as eddy,
Of a saint-toned voice I yearn daily,
Only to vanish in my lust hearings,
Like a sweet smoke diffusing swiftly.

Down in me I want her on purpose,
She eases my fear and fills me with grace,
I slept to see her again holding my rose,
By the river shore while I left for her face,
But she keeps much distance then I chase.

How I dive across rose throngs tracts,
To catch a white bulb leaving her hands,
Of a blooming twig that speaks her heart,
Only to let it wilt and knot on sight,
Like autumn bringing leaves to drought.

I trudge every crowded road,
To feel her tender touch from behind,
Of her stunning fingers; on my rear they ride,
Only to sense her no more; for she fled and hid,
Like a chameleon drawing its horny tongue inward.

Every day falls in a blink of an eye,
My hairs age grey and I'm going high,
Still expecting her to come and set me free,
From my hurt heart, so I'd shout with glee,
Why does she seem quite impossible and mean?

Soaring the heavens for her only rainbow,
As she glares a serene colour and tint mine slow,
Of a hue trail penning our whole story,
She turns a bitter rain and floods me away.

Then a day comes with a knock on my door,
In a velvety hoodie dress she comes afore,
To touch her as she melts into zephyr of limpid butterflies,
Each blows off soon couple of miles each pierces,
Alas! She is an impossible soul to render my dreams lies...