My words

My words are falling incessantly

from that oak tree

lying in the refuge

at the bottom 

of that big old giant

waiting for the mercy of the wind 

to gently glide and take 

away to promised lands

where they were strewn again 

or kept in the folds of the 

those yellow pages to remind

us again

how beautiful 

our love used to be.

My words are falling as the 

broken star

deep in the thickness of the night

falling

and floating endlessly in the

trying not to get lost in the deep oblivion

of the darkness

not to miss the bereaved sight of my lover

so she 

can wish upon me.

My words are dropping as

the sweet droplets of water

those tiny globules

as the tears of the heaven

of all the broken hearts 

lost in their deep soliloquy

not trying to lose their identity

till it parches the soul

and quenches 

your heart

roaming freely

My words,

My verses,

my syllables,

my metaphors,

are all

an ode to my love

in an unspoken tongue

born out of my muted heart

taking birth in the strange lands

an aubade

drenched in the crimson light

washed in the ambrosia

of my love for thee.

My words are all I have

My words are all me.

 –Megha