Last letter to Anna


Would this be, that piece, I deferred, thru many ends
Or forgot shrewdly, many times, till it came
To that bend, where we break, not as lovers or friends
But strangers so estranged, playing a “skipping” game

Do I have the nerve, to pen this, with that thing called “pain”?
It ain’t the finest ink, but, how else, to post a heart
That moans out the missive, of a man, with a nerveless vein
Who once mimed a hero, is a wreck, can you tell apart?

Was love, some hearts raffle, some gamble, out of the blue?
Sorry! I didn’t make it, to the win, that, so likely seemed
Just love, pure love, with heart at stake, until, you bid adieu
Why made me a petty bettor, were you the one, I dreamed?

Springs still bless, those who, bask in passion’s grace
Baptize rains, those loves, whose creed, to give away
And the frigid spell, that relays yearnings, on a warm chase
Why bestowed me a fall you, rustling sighs of, withering decay

That scent of you, I had smelt, thru my smitten soul
What more is you, beyond that, a profound mystery?
Or a shallow travesty, of deceit, on the stroll
Still lingers, in my recalls, new throbbing’s, aging debris

Who left whom behind! Us or time?
As I reach out, to touch, those moments thru fog
I find the same man lost, on a chase sublime
Who is me now, penning vain love’s, last dialogue

Would you not care, to embrace or caress?
What you once called love, and I, a pious creed
How sumptuous in fact, is this playful largesse
Your pompous decree, “It wasn’t love indeed!”

My hand would tremble, so won’t write your name
The same shiver, that’s still me, a lovelorn shy man
How hard to confess, to put my only pride to shame
Awaited, still awaits you, on his tomb, since it all began

© 2015 Vikas Chandra

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