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COPING WITH THE DAYS AND NIGHTS
It is yet another half-hearted moonlit night,
Another bout of agonising thoughts of yore,
Who would have wanted all this to happen,
Ah, who will understand why I am awake all night?
The breeze is gentle and laden with the fragrance,
Of Jasmine, just like it used to be once,
But now I don't see the sweet smelling flowers,
Nor do I see her, who was my being's essence.
So what else should I be found doing,
Apart from puffing cigars and inhaling,
A dreaded poison wondering why I am immune,
Why doesn't the stuff set fire to my being?
Let the talk about prayers remain with the faithful,
Let me not be wracked with the discourse on beliefs,
Let me be in the state of the forgetful,
And let the night be kind not cruel or vengeful.
Soon, just like the ones I loved and have lost,
I too will join the list of the doleful,
A spot and a stone will indicate where I may be,
Some tears will be shed without a why or a what.
And high up on the hill where I once used to go,
A friend will gather the others and show,
How I used to laugh and sing in the hope,
That the one I loved would be waiting below.
And he would also tell all about how I spent nights,
Talking about her who ruled my heart,
For hours and hours till the sun rose and shone,
How my beloved eclipsed my thoughts on the heights.
How I never came close to the cigar or the pipe,
How I shunned liquor and all avarice,
How her happiness only meant to me most,
He will explain why I smoke and laugh at the wise.
He will also tell why I liked Marilyn Monroe,
And why I adored Madhubala so much,
Why I started believing that fate can't be changed,
Why I live for today and not for tomorrow.
After having listened to whatever he will say,
Some people may reflect and pause on the way,
Some may even think I was but a fool,
But I don't care because this is my way.
ah yesssss,
Now this shows me so much of the man. I really enjoyed this. What a deep tangled rushing river you are. All women should hope to have such a man remember them so long after they have gone from this earth. You love almost painfully so. I know what its like to love that way. It is in very many ways a gift but in so many ways too its a curse. Like one of those people who can remember every tiny thing in their lives. I think that would be pure and utter hell. Such ailment as you speak of must feel like a cigarette burn so very deeply upon the very fabric of your being. That is where one's faith must enter to soothe. I always remember Death takes our beloved ones the Lord merely Receives them. I think this poem is one of my favorite so far I've read of yours not counting the ones you have penned so eloquently for me recently but the ones prior. I felt like as I was reading this poem you were taking a deep breath for the rest of the world. Yer a beaut of a man in your words. Never doubt that! a truly most sincere Melissa