Tonight, my love, you shall wonder yet again,
while heaving sighs sombre, too bruised to wander,
unbothered by the worldly music playing.
You bury your face in your unfeeling hands,
wishing you could feel something for once,
once again.
This moment, my dear, you desire to live anew.
A million dreams wait to unfold, and hold—and
life becomes so much more, when you pause to admire.
It is this halt that takes me to my bookshelf yonder;
my existence is whole as I flip the pages. I am alive,
once again.
Two shards of a broken heart I found in a heap of dust.
Empty spaces, pretty faces, a glass of hope, brimming,
brimming with soaring hopes, so new, yet so demanding.
I yearn to be that phoenix once more, but I merely burn.
The pangs of wickedness, too deep inside, I feel the pain
once again.
Time tricked me! That lucky deceiver, the dishonest schemer,
it fooled me twice and more, for I waited and longed for a sign.
A miracle I wished to behold; I shall now search for it, evermore.
Thou art too dazzling for mine eyes; thine smile was a sinner.
I lost myself one fine day, writing a few lines on matters of sorrow.
But, as I turn these pages soaked in tears, I know, I found myself,
once again.
Ankita Bora
B.A. (Hons.) English
Third Year
Edited by Sukoon Wadhawan and Shreya Jathavedan
Art curated by Angel Rose Thomas
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