I wrote to her,
Phoned her too,
Left a text for her,
Sent her a postcard,
Even e-mailed her,

But...

Nothing,

Only the gaping silence
of the deepest chasm,
I am left with

Nothing

but a memory and a dream,
I think back now to a late Spring morning
when the world's birds sang
and I too sang with them,
It was the music written by her fingertips
across the acres of my now aching soul,
We met and talked through the gallery,
I could smell Summer's fragrance in her red hair
as we walked through room after room decorated
with art from the heart of a bygone time,
I gave her a book of poetry by Christina Rossetti
which made her smile and her voice sparkled,

Shyly, we two parted,
I, too full of fear to say what my heart did feel,
She, too much in awe to say the few words,
The words that would drip colour upon my canvas
with the brightest rainbow yet splashed,
That paint from the brush of her pearl,

I have now only tears that
daily erase the weeping paint of my love,
"My fair maid...
Why must you remain silent?"
Let us bridge this ravine with the diamonds days
which once joined our soul searching minds,
"O, what I would now give
to have those dreaming days back again..."



©Rangzeb Hussain