This heart that knew no extremes
Is now caught in the imaginary realms
Of a world beyond the usual cries,
Where every yellow is fire
And every blue is ice.
So must freeze the sky
Before it bleeds on that soft sigh
Soaking the grounds with your humble grief,
Though it, yet, seems but some relief
To the wounded soul of the broken heart –
Broken, though, on both the sides,
It is one that lets the silent cry
In the dark of a windy night.
The other, quiet as it seems
Is lost in the turbulent scenes,
Of past that is past and present passing by
Of future diffused in the haze of cries,
As passion and pain lurk through edges of the glass
For what was the love for, when it was meant not to last?
by Riti Kumar