Triasha Mondal
I have managed to write loyal cantos in the name of love.
I have ceased making sense of my relentless rhapsodizings,
for it is merely a litany of your glory.
my eyes travel the new regions you disclose,
my faith freights the lands you deem faithful.
I water the plumeria that grows in the soil moistened with my own tears for how else must I present an offering, at the pious-morn in the selfishly wrong season?
my dear,
I shall be lucid.
Unbeknownst; you have tossed me into a troubled ocean where billows of reverence, rolls under ripples of tenderness.
and some wilder torrent fettered my moorings into the unquiet beatings of your heart. now I quite frantically take several excursions into you.
Ere you, I had written lines one or two, in the perennial trappings of woe
for it has been more faithful to me than joys.
but tonight, my pen pleads my colluding brain
and I write timid adorations for you in many words.
evening falls in solitude, autumn winds waft gently,
oh but you shall be cruel to crumble the clemen evening with the lack of you, what must I do!
the autumn winds remind me of you. To write a poem for you.
and unknowingly, in my haste, managed to, for it is you, where my heart is tethered to.