The quill occupies
a quivering hand,
animates my thoughts.
Justice not done.
A distended heart cries,
to you it sounds
like another sound, .
The melancholy, unheard.
Each time you slip,
off your contour,
I blush.
A weakness disclosed.
Memories, soured
by stipulations,
you struggle to forget,
Wounds re-exposed.
For the unattainable,
I try,
And never tire,
Perseverance assessed.
My pain, never shared,
scrutinized by
your reproachful eyes,
Condolence missed!
Day by day,
I age.
The dead parts wither.
I wait.
Wait for the tears to taste sweet.
Neethi (10 Aug 1990)
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/obtuse/
