The Poet

I longed to be the heir of your heart,
Yet fate inscribed me only in the lines of verse.
My love was like a poem,
And I, a blind lover wandering its stanzas.
Still, I found no return, no echo of your love.
A question rises within,
Who shall bear this blame?
Who carries the weight of such unfairness?

I wished to be your eternal companion,
To rest my hand within yours,
And walk through every morning of life together.
No storm had even come,
Yet already the dreams were shattered,
Like the vanished species of dinosaurs,
Lost long before our birth.

I longed to be your lover,
But my love found no promise, no completion.
I was left as nothing but a poet.
I wished to be a painter,
Sketching your face upon this heart,
Or with colors, crafting a home of joy.
What did this heart receive at last?
Only emptiness,
A hollow core without you.
And so I whisper to myself,
No matter how far you go,
You will remain mine, always.
Who has truly won, who has lost,
Who stops to see?
Tell me, who has no right to dream of happiness in their imagination?

Since you departed,
The flowers of love have withered for many days,
They had withered long before.
Long before, in the time it took you to forget me.
And I gathered their fallen petals,
Weaving them into poems through a thousand nights, countless days.
Still I wonder,
My time will come. You will return.
And with you, so will the season of joy.

Poem: The Poet

-- Khubayb Hossain