The raindrop whispered to the jasmine,
“Keep me in your heart for ever.”
The jasmine sighed, “Alas,” and dropped to the ground.*
(237 Stray Birds by Rabindranath Tagore. Rabindranath Tagore was born in Calcutta, India, on May 7, 1861. He is the author of many poetry collections, including Gitanjali: Song Offerings (Macmillan, 1913), which received the Nobel Prize in Literature. He died on August 7, 1941.)
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Alas
some words of note get overlooked,
their usage to the wayside,
this is life, forever updating its profile
Alas!
none of us, do not lie,
issue this all encompassing sigh,
this shaded heart rendering, un cri du coeur
this, to remind us:
a single warring word,
falls wounded, forgotten,
telling of impossibilities
lost love, a broken conjunction,
what was that can never be,
what never was and yet not impossible
someday
Alas! Alas!
a single word poem,
that answers so many things,
and still in its regretting
is a niche of untold hopeful perhaps
write me a word like that
your fame, if that’s all you desire,
alas,
is assured...
Alas!
