Dark sky, filled with constellations,
Dark room with nothing but a gloomy light in a corner,
Dark desk and here I sit looking outside,
Thinking of you.
Disguised but my ways of loving,
Frustrated by the lonely nights,
Troubled by my own soul,
I pick up my pen, close my eyes,
And paint you in my poetry.
I might forget you,
You might forget me,
We might never meet,
But, I've painted you in my poetry, I'll keep coming back to you.
My body has forgotten how it feels to hold someone,
I've forgotten what it is to love someone,
When I paint you in my poetry,
Something churns inside me, and I loose myself.
I've never talked to you,
But I've spoken a thousand words to you,
Never touched you,
But fantasized thousands things about you.
What is this agony you've put me into,
This frail reality of love,
This frail identity of addiction,
This cruel pain of infatuation you won't understand,
After all, what is this, but one sided love.
Where I keep dreaming,
Where I keep painting you in my poetry,
Where I keep spending my time with you in my imagination,
And you stay out in your world, forgetting that I even existed.
My name after months might sound strange to you,
My face after weeks might be not recognizable to you,
You might've forgotten me,
But how can I forget you?
© Ashraf Shaikh