Snowier than thy stockings, rosier than thy blush
Rise the roses of remembrance, o’er winter’s last rush
Won’t you laze by me, yet one more time?
Won’t you shush along, my hushed half-rhyme?
Besides that cedar and a wreath and a mortal requiem
Sleeps my sugar in her coffin, lost in immortal dream
Of the oath to mate, her soul with mine
Hear moor’s lasting whispers, come rain or shine
Was this meant to be our lot? Why not?
For love indeed, it was, or did we besot!
To a sin misjudged, as a faith profound
And we called it “love”, always felt, never found!
Come lower my dear, ever-closer to my heart
Two furies in a mound, flaunt the dying art
Let’s fit each other, like hand in glove
It’s the orgy of souls, not the funeral of love
© 2016 Vikas Chandra