Writers’ Blokke
Published in
2 min readMay 31, 2021


Photo by Mika Korhonen on Unsplash

I see you through the magnificent black mirror,

Close enough to see you crystal clear,

Yet every time I fail to organize my messed up thoughts,

Of all the melody, symphony, and imaginary talks,

But a tragic pain in my heart always persists,

That you might never know that I even exist.

Like the pure dewdrops descended from paradise,

Enough for the appealing jasmine to be enticed,

You sounded like soothing lullabies to my ears,

Bind by that affectionate touch for which I waited for years,

Yet again I got trapped and lost in memories while I hear,

Is it unreal, or are you truly out there somewhere,

It’s a tragedy that you don’t even know,

That I live far away even from your shadow,

Eager eyes hoping for one sight of yours,

Of those beetle black eyes and secret it allures,

Yet again I struggle to manage my jumbled up thoughts,

Of all the unnamed emotions and from where it belongs,

Despite all the pleasures I ever wished of,

The hopeless idea I finally can’t resist,

That you might never know that I even exist.

I tussle with the crooked time continuously,

To taste defeat by my own agitations inevitably,

Every day I adore the black mirror passionately,

Cause it connects you and me fictionally,

Each time I restart, my fondness for you increases,

And the anxiety of not meeting you drastically decreases,

Yet again my own imagination endures me,

Of circumstances where you are and where shall I be.

Despite the scarce probability of meeting you someday,

Maybe on a tiring Monday or on a mesmerizing holiday,

I’ll recite this small piece of my soulful heart,

I wrote solemnly for you till the end from the start,

Till then my song stays safely with me,

Hoping for a passionate evening just you and me,

That day finally my feelings will be untwisted,

For then you’ll know that once I existed.