The letter
He opened her letter slowly
[Lest it should tear apart]
And noticed how easily
She had broken his heart.
She wrote of ideals long cherished
And duties of her own
She pointed out how she too wished
Not to leave him alone.
Then she spoke of her desires
Which made her write all this
How she now wished to acquire
Fame and worldly bliss.
Her love for him was unending,
She said throughout the note
That was why she was sending
The letter which she wrote.
She had to think of her own life
And fulfil her aspirations
It would hurt his heart and hers
But it had to be done.
He stared at the blank cover
And uttered agonizing screams
But the letter was over
And so were his dreams!
He closed his eyes in silent pray
And again wiped his tears
He had read the same letter everyday
For the last twenty years.
(c) deep
Serene, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind nor tide nor sea; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo! My own shall come to me -- by John Burroughs
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The letter...
A poem I wrote back in college... thankfully its not inspired from my life!