After I was done,
with the definition of love
taught by the myths and prose,
I was defined
by the notions of life
taughy by sorrow and woes.
In the middle of it
I tried hard on my luck,
I tried befriending all my foes.
I was denied by fate.
Good or bad?
Who knows!
In this melancholy
I remained for days and nights,
watching my heart close.
Among the tragedies of love,
fearing a mention of mine,
I bore all the blows.
But in the end what remains -
is like a dusty book on the block,
filled with unforgiving lovelorn prose,
and weary faces of love;
frightening its seclusion,
and petals of some dried scented roses.
- Syed Rehan
