Waste Love Land Poem by RAJAT GHOSH

When I sit alone with you
With my imaginations few
On the grassland green
Down the sky in dream,
I lose myself in somewhere
To find my concrete pair.
I know you will write oneday
Something to homage pay.
I am to wait here for runner
And waiting makes me poorer
In body and mind, Tithonous like
Or like that sombre poem's Pike.
O what I am writing is nonsense
Reading Godot's meaning dense.
Some says waiting is positive,
Deliberately I pass thinking negative.
I waited, wait and will wait for ever
Say to me the Keatsian adieu never.
If my imagination loses you here
I will be the Eliot famous in future,
With my modern Waste Love Land,
With no 'Shanti' but only desert sand.