The love I treasured for her
all this while
in delicate crevices of heart,
was often put to test

Burned sometimes,
charred to ashes,
often tarnished with spiteful vile

And despite all atrocities,
love thrived
for when you love someone’s soul
the outside demeanor doesn’t matter much,

So, despite being bruised,
her smile
put the hope back in the deviant heart,

That’s what I thought,
but I was wrong,
for when befooled
and demeaned time and again,
the love dissolves in thin air

There isn’t any hatred,
or any rage
but the yearning and feeling is dead,
now she is back with her charm again
and I wonder why this heart
doesn’t beat the same way
it used to before,
presumably the love is dead
and peace has regained the soul

Copyright © Shantanu Baruah

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