While speaking to my heart

Life in Poetry

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While speaking to my heart
I asked, what if I like her a lot
To which heart replied, drink wine
Do drugs or do anything
But forget her.

Because she is never going to be yours.
Then the heart sank in deep remorse.
Doing nothing, making me sit idle
And thinking for hours.

That is how the love started
That is how he imagined her
In his calmness of not having her
Yet thinking of her.

The way she moves across
Sometimes keeping her eyes straight
To her path
and sometimes digging ground.

He almost knows she is ignoring him
And she is confirming her moves to him
With certain escalations of her admittance
Sneaking into the eyes of him.
She knew, she liked him, now he knows she liked him
But a force of hesitation was stopping them to say a single ‘hi’
She had no words after ‘hi’ to say
It was the same problem with him too.
And that is how their story remained sacred and gave
Long life to an unbreakable bound.
A bound which has no words to confront
A bound which was free of good or bad
A bound of emotions tied to unite them
Months passed, the bound strengthen.

She married him, while making love on their bed
He gave names to their children
They unitedly raised their children,
A very pretty daughter and a boy.
From months to years passed, he and she grew old.
Holding each other’s hand. Now the moments of death came.
For her, he died earlier, and she cried at his death.
And to him, she left earlier.
He shook his head at a sudden from great loss,
And left the thought.
A thought strike him from time to time,
If this is the life, I am going to live, then I have lived.
I need not to seek her anymore.
A year later, she approached him with her emotions to which he replied.
I should have never dreamed, should have just lived.
Because when you dream, you leave.
As you have already enjoyed its joys and sorrows.
They will not be felt again as they were felt while dreaming.
After listening to this she left for home and cried, for years in her imaginations only, thanking god.
He also did the same, as she did.

© Mani Sidhu