The Untitled Poem
Parted
perhaps ways that we have for always,
Right is it
to wonder about the past -
About all
that's as if it never was,
Things
which in my feeble memory won’t last?
Is it in my
rights to keep those nights as
Keepsakes
of the blithesome time that’s gone -
Such times
when fickle conversations would
Have
continued without any lines drawn?
Apt is it
to remember your black hair
That you’d,
in your photo, let lovingly loose -
Enticing me
still to admire you still,
With your
love of Rumi to reproduce?
At times,
now, when there grows an urge to
Revisit what is you, I can't get past the inquiry -
"Is this really how it was destined to be?"
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