She said:“My consciousness will still be awake
In a leaf
Awaiting your fingers’ stroke
In a rosy petal
On which you may gaze one day
In a breeze
Which you tend to feel
Never will I perish
For I live in your senses
Never you weep
For I am the tears”
She perished… to the naked eyes.
I walked over your wetted ashes
In many an autumn falls
I rested on the wrinkled tree trunks
Inside whence you might have sighed.
Never had I pined for you,
When you breathed.
Never really saw you,
When you stood beside me.
Never heard you
When you spoke.
But now…
Your claimed presence
Do torture my conscience .
Do you pursue me?
Or I pursue you?
If I have known your brief lease before
I would have given away
All your arguments…
Now arguments I long for.
Would have succumbed to
Your persuasions…
For persuasions itself lost now.
I would not have twisted
The confessions…
The pretences…
Of which I was certain of your catch
Somewhere at the evening of our lives.
The evening…
Far before which you have left.
Leaves I stroke
Petals I gazed
Breeze I felt
Amidst a thousand clatters
I hear you
A thousand lights…
I see you
A thousand pleasures…
I pine for you.
As I know you now!
Should I sob or laugh?
I know not…
Do you sob or laugh…?
