A Poem in Distress

The poem
holds shabbily
some prosaic words
as if bundled in a pile
as if its lacking
the glimmer of your eyes
the pearls in that enigmatic smile
or the hollow of your dimple,
As it is taken up with
the reminiscences
of those verses
at what time
the rhythm of love
was unbelievably simple.

Paleness of the paper
reflects how much
emptiness hangs
for the heart to bear
And
how much place
has been laid down
to treasure
the gem of each tear.

The pen,
every now and then
Has struggled hard to scribe
a lot of lame excuses
At times adding some rhyme
perhaps wishing to desist
the thoughts
buzzing with its whine
over reasons
for our parting.

The poetic mind
having nothing more to find
Has kept him
on tenterhooks
Whether to build
one more beginning
of
another ending
For,
just as every time,
a new poem is waiting!