Before the early birds could sing a love song,
Collecting the monumental lure of her love,
He left her marooned in demise for long.
She, who weighs priceless in heavens,
Awaits in demise, disbelief, and fear.
Pierced into her heart, the brand of love,
Makes the night sob in delusional despair.
Babbling in the air, sorrow and tear.
The herd of bleeding memories,
raising above the clouds,
Wailing, in grief of the dear.
The bruised heart foresees a day,
a day of love which won’t tease,
and the heart will live,
not today but tomorrow
or maybe some other day.