A Poet Dead, A Poet Born

By Gaurav Parab

It is one of them days

When the calendar says

A note on hell, one on heaven

And a date ending eleven

A page of memories, an empty pen

People ask, where were you then?

The story of a man

But then he ran

From the sound of a song

And a play played along

She decided to wear white

Just not another night

And every man in that hall

Sighed at that doll

And wondered about the man

And why he ran

And that song she sung

Unbroken hearts dying young

Still rings in his ears

Zero days and five years

Anyways,

The play was about some race

Defeat, and loss of face

And as they sat down

It was the other town

Where something went wrong

And blood flowed strong

And there was a call

To leave the hall

And the man and the girl

Got up with a twirl

And a boy and woman left

While keepers claimed theft

A poet, he died that day

A poet, she was born that day

And then each went their way

Two ice cubes from the same tray
In separate glasses made of clay

Subscribe to this blog, and get this blog directly in your inbox. Join me on Facebook.