A Psalm Of Yearnings From The Grave

Your moor is kind, to me, my love
She tends me, with her verdant ruth
White lilies bloom, on her velvet glove
Like restless lies, on a solemn truth!

That bliss we shared, o’er parting kiss
Still lingers on, like that, stray zephyr
Who fills with ache, my soul’s abyss
To make life’s lie, death’s candour, blur!

The blood, which stirred, my substance, once
Is all but dead, see my aplomb blush
Shall last, our love, myriad eons
Like the forlorn song, of the lovelorn thrush!

My widow, sings me, lullaby
“May last, that sin, our destiny gave”
As I whisper, to her, with a sigh
A Psalm Of Yearnings From The Grave

© 2018 Vikas Chandra

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