MOHIT MITRA Poet Blank verse

Mine Awe

—Nothing, Save the Ache—


I adore stars that tremble through thy hair,
The forest breathing musk into the dark,
The moon's pale argent sleeping on the sea,
The falls that hasten toward an unseen will;
I adore the steed in brazen greaves,
Its warm breath whitening the winter air,
Its bridle chimes, small silver bells of dusk.
No star resents the worship of mine eyes;
I ask no light to stoop because I gaze,
But stand beneath the vastness and adore.

I adore violet's dusky perfume,
The rose that slowly opens to the dawn,
The lily's pallor, gold of daffodils,
The aspen trembling underneath the wind,
The winter sun laid softly on thy cheek,
The summer rain entangled in thy hair.
I venerate what will not be possessed.
I adore God, whom no eye hath beheld;
I ask no miracle, nor throne, nor sign,
But only this: be near me; be with me.

Then why doth my awe trouble thee at all?
Why doth my gaze make sanctuary recoil?
What claim lies hidden in my reverence?
What chain is forged by eyes that ask no bond?
I bring no hunger dressed as tenderness;
I seek no tribute from thy mouth or hands.
The rose withdraws not from the lips of dawn;
The sea resents not moonlight on her breast.
Why shouldst thou fear the gaze that asks no thing?
Why should being adored become a wound?

Perhaps adoration is the art
Whereby the hand learns not to close its grasp;
Where nearness burns possession from the soul,
And touch becomes a silence of the skin;
Where thy breath alters all the listening dark,
Yet I would sooner lose thee than confine.
One night I saw the firmament collapse
Within thine eyes, as though the vault of heaven
Were but a veil through which the nameless breathed,
Beyond the reach of all that language keeps.

And so I shall adore thee as the earth
Receives the rain, yet shackles not the fall;
As night receives the moon and lets her pass;
As flowers take the sun, then yield their scent.
Come near, if thou wouldst; vanish, if thou must.
I shall not forge a prison from desire.
My awe requires no answer but thy being.

I need not have thee for thee to remain
The wound my freedom gives me to survive.
Go where thou wilt; I shall not call thee back—
For thou art mine in nothing, save the ache.

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Alison A Smith September 6, 2026 at 4:32 AM A deeply affecting meditation on adoration as reverence rather than possession. The sustained natural and celestial imagery gives the poem a spacious, almost sacred atmosphere, while the recurring “I adore” becomes a quiet litany of devotion. The blank verse carries the speaker’s argument with stately restraint, and the final paradox—being “mine in nothing, save the ache”—lands with poignant grace. A beautiful, emotionally intelligent exploration of love, freedom, and the dignity of letting go. MOHIT MITRA September 6, 2026 at 5:59 AM Cherished Alison, 🌸 Thou dost keep laying thy precious eyes upon my poor verses, and for each such gaze my gratitude riseth yet higher. There is a peculiar grace in being read by a soul that reads beyond mere words; and for that, I offer thee my most soulful thanks—for thy kindness, thy presence, and, above all, for thy very being, Cherished Alison. 🙌✨