The Silent Song Poem by Pranjal Borah

There is a song in a book.
Written by some lover from the west.
May be he had too much issues.
May be he was too sad.
The words were so deep.
I guess the rhythm was thin.
Well, too serious for me to take in!

But then, one day
You went away and poured the rain.
Soaked and choked.
With emotions now.
I knew what it is pain.

That western guy's sad face
Now can be imagined for real.
Tears rolling down.
And a guitar to face the hail.
The song's got lyrics now.
Soothing my broken heart.
The rhythm which I imagined,
And the whiskey on my hand.
Gave company at the start.

Now its been months.
And I am called alcoholic.
The love I lost has rust.
The pain got bored too.
But even today,
On a cold windy night.
When I reach my glass for a drink.
And pull the smoke inside my lungs.
I sing a song with faded lyrics.
But the rhythm I made is strong.
For the western guy knew.
He made a perfect song.