Your
poems were for me
mine for
everyone but you...
You
looked at me, for me
I looked
at everyone and for
everyone
but you...
You loved
me but left...
I left
you but still loved...
You
scarred your body in search of me
I scarred
my soul in spite of you.
You moved
on and turned
into a
family man
a lovely
husband and a great father.
I moved
on and turned
into a
bohemian artist.
a single
woman and a great catch
Our lives
carried on
Our paths
seldom crossed
Crossed
if they did only
to move
on again...
Until one
warm and humid
August
Morning...
The
destiny intermingled again
The line
connected and so did the hearts...
Now my
poems are for you
but you
are for others
I look
for you
but you
have to look at others
My love
is for you
and yours
is divided...
My soul
is still scarred
looking
for a balm
Your body
is still scarred
looking
for the cure
We seem
to be the pieces
of
a puzzle waiting to fit...
but you
are still a family man
and I am
the bohemian artist
single
and a great catch.
(C)
shubhra
21st
February, 2014
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