My poems were for you
Yours for everyone but me...
I looked at you, for you
You looked at everyone and for
everyone but me...
I loved you but left...
You left me but still loved...
I scarred my body in search of you
You scarred your soul in spite of me.
I moved on and turned
into a family man
A loving husband and a great father.
You 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 your poems are for me
but I am for others
You look for me
but I have to look at others
Your love is for me
and mine is divided...
Your soul is still scarred
looking for a balm
My body is still scarred
looking for the cure
We seem to be the pieces
of a puzzle waiting to fit...
But I am still a family man
and you the bohemian artist
Single and still a great catch.
(C) shubhra
21st February, 2014
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