The Two States of Love.
Yes, hidden is the partial tale,
from a heart that awakens not,
may love enthrall uprooted plants,
but, not a man that love forgot.
As we all are born -a yesterday,
again will be, when today shall tread,
and so carry on with this delay,
until a lover's sweet words be said.
And morbid if my heart does turn,
a place with spiral toxic cold,
where tears do crowed the rivulets,
would the wet air my sighing hold;
So if sorrow such on my behalf,
does tear apart, a haunted chest,
Still, her name would be my epitaph,
And her love the ever staying guest.
R.N.Khan, © 2012