Aspirations still find themselves centered towards you
and so, I am stuck in this torpid and doomed to write
all day long and on these moonless nights
till I wipe out the very trace of you.
Oh! how we conspired together to never let this end,
to inspire each other and let our creations blend!
I had chosen to be your apprentice
declare myself your canvas, and be your master-piece
Such desires toil every night to scratch the layers of reality.
But, they fail to transcend the turmoil of inner duality
My hollow words echo back in dismay
From the chalice, tears percolate everyday
I fear not your hatred O! Muse, but your insensitivity
I regret not your absence but my instance of levity
How shall I now chronicle my tale, O! Fountainhead
without you how shall I narrate that instance, when we both bled.
How shall I now say,
what words shall I choose,
who will listen to my wearied rhyme
to the ragged tale of my tumultuous crime?
Will it be discarded as a lowly device
or will it suffice –
when I say, “I lost my muse
in the myriad of hues”