My melancholy,disquite muse,was the one
Who taught me to empathize with,beats of
Waves, moon lit nights, mermaid songs
Whale whistles of lovelorn moments,
Heartbreaks ending failed love affairs
That haunts the hearts like unmitigated thirsts.
She walks me through the garden path,
Taking my cold shivering hands
            ....in her warm trembling palm...

I see the young blooms fallen from
The lap of the vine, that held them close,
Fondled with such affection, showered for a lifetime.
I see all of them,trampled over,crumpled in the dust.

The withered flowers on bushes we pass,one by one,
They look lackluster  in the crushing
Harsh sun, my muse who refused to speak all along,
Now has teardrops rolling down her eyes.
She makes my crusted ice cap collapse, I melt
Not being able to look at my heart broken by beloved.

I look around for a bud or a sprout extolling hope
A young shoot softly whispers,"Life is here, in wait"