By Atharva Rewatkar
When you shall leave, far away from me,
I'll stare at souvenirs 'neath a weeping tree.
With a heavy heart and a brooding sigh,
I'll carve your name beneath a mourning sky,
Where every cloud would weep and fade
In the night, in painful grief arrayed.
If our paths are decreed not to entwine,
I shall shun my verse and silently resign,
And let my sorrow flow through my pen,
To proclaim my love through Hilly Glen
Of my tears that will sing of your grace
And mourn your loss in that lonely place.
If you say, "I am not yours, nor dear,"
Then I shall humbly disappear,
And erase myself from your thought
Instead of straining and ruining the taut.
In oblivion, I shall hide my face
And let your will prevail without my trace.
On the beads of my breath and beats,
The sweet torment of pain bitterly meets
Your ghost that once had illumed my way,
Now abandoned me in twilight's dim array.
Where once we had shared our dreams,
I'll walk alone against the lamenting streams.
If the world sees nought in me,
A face, a wraith of what I used to be,
I'll turn myself to the skies at the sight
Where dreams dwell in dark and bright.
There, in heavens, you and I shall meet,
Where our unfulfilled love may be replete.
Still in this mortal body, I stand
With a heartache, without any demand,
To touch again those lovely days,
To walk one last time under your gaze.
But if you will lose to the tactics of the time,
I'll guard this, and this will make you sublime.