I wrote of love all this time
Never knowing what it stood for
Or what it meant to someone else
Those words were flowery
Buttery, slippery
Rising with every tender breath
And falling as the sun goes down
I wrote of beauty, magnanimity
Of holding hands and second chances
And eyes that did most of the talking
Intoxicated from a simple glance;
Inebriated without touching a bottle
Yet today I search for lost words;
The silence screams at me
As the paper talks; implores me once more
To paint a fresco comprising myriad colors
But all I see is a blank canvas
Staring back at me, while
I think of love and the days gone by
Just left behind
To my poetic misery.
© 2013 Mihir Kamat
Featured image courtesy of Wikimedia commons.
Mihir Kamat 
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