By Fiza Pathan
I whisper to the moonlight in my sleepless state of being, and your memory arrives on the wings of the snow white owl.
I taste the breath of summer, and the luscious fruit of reminiscence digests into my mind’s extremities.
My heart’s beat also sings a song of the past, as it recalls the mementos of long ago.
And then you remain within me still, even though the years pass away into a careless musing upon your keepsake memories.
Only I know the pain this retention in the mind brings to me-of things that could have remained within my grasp, but which I let go of long ago.
Just like the blind moth burns itself readily on the flames of the earth, so do I burn within my breast the flame of nostalgia-I burn it and burn in it as well.
Only a madman can cure my recollections with his ashes and his ravings.
What is the crime of love to the forget-me-not plant; only the poet knows its nectar lies in a sting.
I keep all this as a scrap of leftover love relics, but I dare not break them in my conscience-not just yet.
So let me remember you, and recall your name and sigh, in my dark tomb of gold and silver, while your tokens of love as roses wither my life into shreds.
Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan
Image courtesy: http://www.morguefile.com/archive/display/598092