A terza rima.
The Lonely Lane
At my wits' end, I walk the lonely lane,
Out to the place away from galling cries—
Seeking delight in silence but in vain.
A victim of your love, your hazel eyes,
My feet carry me deep into the night—
Where first 'hellos' mixed with last 'goodbyes.'
I stop before a tree with spectral sight;
I remember your smile, your silent adieu—
Staring at the trunk, its stupendous height.
Unanswered love, how can I carry you through
The ups and downs, the highs and lows again
In a lovelorn place such as Kathmandu?
Who will listen as I try to explain?
At my wits' end, I walk the lonely lane.
Poetry by Bibek
Read 112 times
Written on 2018-05-21 at 13:35
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