A broken heart
wants to be immortal
like a poem of Szymborska;
A poem of such stature
wants a body of reticent words
to find a voice;
A viable, reticent word
needs a field of blank sheet
to scatter itself like a seed;
A blank sheet
needs sperm-like-ink
to conceive something
as beautiful as a child on the face of the earth;
Landslide, flood victims awaiting relief in dire state
A stretch of ink,
even a speck of it,
requires bends of mind
in the ages of solitude
to draw even the eyes of
the most unsaid…
the most unborn…
An unclaimed love
has managed to survive through
the worst of silences
in the most silent way!