BROKEN WINGS

  All those empty words before.
Line after line of verse,
Meaningless to the core.

The love in those poems,
Then imagined,
Now Divine!!

Only now
does my heart
Conspire to tell me,
For who those words were written.
And for whom these words I write.

Only now,
do my eyes see,
The beauty that held them blind.

Only now
my lips tell me,
For whom these words I recite.

Only now
does my heart lead the way,
Leaving all else behind.

The smile
that I see all day,
with eyes both open and shut.
The voice
That I hear all day.
Till my ears seem to burst.

The longing, the sorrow, the misery.
The glancing moments cherished so much.
The sadness, the tears of our history,
The history
That I have come to love so much.

Yet, I play the fool,
Who pines for what may never be.
The fragile thing,
That is the love within me.
No longer in my hands,
But,
In the hands of thee.

This silence
That I have kept.
Until it tore me apart
and escaped from me.
Was the silence I probably should have kept.
And with it alone
should have wept.
And then should have left my future
to be shaped by thee.

I write what my mouth cannot say.
I write what my heart wants to say.
Yet, what my ears want to hear,
Can come from your mouth alone.

There are the tears
which wet the ink,
not letting it dry.
There is the mind,
That wonders why?
Why the tears?
Why the love?
Then there is the heart,
Unable to answer the mind,
Just does not know what to say.
And the tears,
Always the tears,
that as yet are flowing away.

~Rishabh Gulati~

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