By Anand Gupta
With all my flavours and flaws
I’ve tried my best to love you
Yet I’m sorry for not being enough
For not being there to uncoil your silence
Even upon seeing your tears inundating my soul
Like always, I’ve failed to wipe them out
I’ve failed myself and you, my love
But for all that can be said and not
I’ve loved you from the time I can’t remember
You’ve grown on me like sunshine in the winter
Like Kaner in the cracks of the denuding Thar
For every second, age and epoch
Your thought hasn’t ever left me —
Nor shall it till my death, or not even then
Yet I’m sorry for not being the love
You always wanted me to be—a brave swain
If anything, forgive me for my inexpressiveness
Cowardice and sheepishness basking in shame
Forgive me for not iterating the dictum of love
Forgive me, my love, for not loving you with
The passion of the Christ seeking justice
I wish I could be another Schindler standing tall
Crossing the Rubicon and giving rights to Gaul
Against the tyranny of Everyday Evil you face
Alas! My tears couldn’t even wipe the stains of blood
Seeping from your streets every now and then
For I’m not sorry to you alone but
To every child, young and old there
Who dies crying in age of counting stars
Who discovers days darker than the nights
With no end in the sight — or even
Their sights are taken by the guns of the despots
Image of elves, goblins, hobbits, fairies
Fade in the dreams of children when
They hear sounds of boots besides fairy tales
Being narrated by their sobbing mothers with smiles
Trying to brave their longest night
They fear to fall asleep in their cradles
They fear to see their dreams again
For all you and all there are going through I’m sorry
Sorry for not being the hope I should have been
Sorry I couldn’t write the love letters to you
Oiling love and justice with you on the canvas
But still I wish in some distant life when
The Heaven will live upto Its meaning and
The justice will flow in the rivers not blood
The Sun will bring the merry morning not terror
Streets will be flocked by lovers not enlisted men
And children will cry for their toys not dead
I will meet you there, my love, with my heart in my mouth
Confessing how much I’ve always loved you.
By Anand Gupta
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