When people ask me, after you have gone
What am I?
I say I am no one in this vast world of contours
Thoughts and dreams
Colors that could make the body of my poems
Where your love finds freedom, releasing warmth in them
Now I know no color
No real tragedy
The only tragedy I know is
When people asked me what I was
I said,"I am a poet."
With every the dignified response
The rejoinder was often
"Why was I so sure in a world that writes more than it reads?"
It was because I had you as my inspiration
I was your poet
Who confessed his sins to your soul
The sameness with which we kissed too was poetic
A zephyr that would blow across your hair
That too was poetic
Now, all that remains
Are fragmented lines
Of a fragmented love song
Of a heart completely
Broken