By Gaurav Parab
He was eighteen when he first went away,
To get educated he said to her dismay.
He called her up as she lay on her bed,
Listen carefully sweetheart, he softly said.
This place is as lovely as you my love,
Many pretty girls that I can speak of,
Bright days, a hundred stars in the night,
But none as pretty as your sight.
She laughed sweetly as she replied,
Don’t forget who will be your bride,
Today I crossed out another date,
To meet you again I can hardly wait.
He was thirty when he left her again,
To fight the war, even if it was insane.
He wrote to her as he lay in a trench,
In English, and a little broken French.
This place is as lovely as you my love,
Many pretty girls that I can speak of.
Bright days, a hundred stars in the night,
But none as pretty as your sight.
She cried softly as she wrote back,
Be strong darling when your fears attack.
Today I crossed out another date,
To meet you again I can hardly wait.
He was eighty when he fell asleep,
With a smile on his face, he did not weep.
He came in her dream the next day,
Listen carefully sweetheart, to what I say.
This place is as lovely as you my love,
Many pretty girls that I can speak of,
Bright days, a hundred stars in the night,
But none as pretty as your sight.
She looked up slowly to the sky,
There was no need to say goodbye.
She slowly crossed out another date,
To meet him again, she could hardly wait.
To get educated he said to her dismay.
He called her up as she lay on her bed,
Listen carefully sweetheart, he softly said.
This place is as lovely as you my love,
Many pretty girls that I can speak of,
Bright days, a hundred stars in the night,
But none as pretty as your sight.
She laughed sweetly as she replied,
Don’t forget who will be your bride,
Today I crossed out another date,
To meet you again I can hardly wait.
He was thirty when he left her again,
To fight the war, even if it was insane.
He wrote to her as he lay in a trench,
In English, and a little broken French.
This place is as lovely as you my love,
Many pretty girls that I can speak of.
Bright days, a hundred stars in the night,
But none as pretty as your sight.
She cried softly as she wrote back,
Be strong darling when your fears attack.
Today I crossed out another date,
To meet you again I can hardly wait.
He was eighty when he fell asleep,
With a smile on his face, he did not weep.
He came in her dream the next day,
Listen carefully sweetheart, to what I say.
This place is as lovely as you my love,
Many pretty girls that I can speak of,
Bright days, a hundred stars in the night,
But none as pretty as your sight.
She looked up slowly to the sky,
There was no need to say goodbye.
She slowly crossed out another date,
To meet him again, she could hardly wait.
1 comment:
Love - Everyone claims to know what it "actually" means. The moment someone says "I know what love is", rest assured what follows is banal at best. If I myself dare to use one such platitude, I would say, it's not possible at all to put it in words.
Such poems come real close to achieve that impossible feat what with such perfect blend of pain and ecstasy. Keep up the quest!!
- Ashutosh Pande
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