The Last Rhyme

A chasm for its seeker,

A misery for the heartless,

A delight for the benevolent

And magic for the masses,

I guess a sad poem is sad for a reason.

I, of all the people, should've known that.

But fortunately, you were the one,

who made me realize that.

I guess we are all drunk on the idea that love,

Only love, can heal our sadness.

And I searched for love,

Unfortunately, I didn't find it.

But you made me realize that,

You don't find it.

It finds you.

Somehow, Somewhere, Someday,

It finds you when you least expect it.

And you have to handle it carefully.

Because it breaks even the most beautiful hearts!

I didn't care if it broke me in pieces.

I just wanted to be glad that it found me.

But there was something scary about it,

It was the fire that lightened up with feelings that haunted me,

How the love came out of the flames,

And the words came out of the ashes.

It was after that everything I had written turned into songs,

And only then,

I realized that you gave me the greatest gift.

You filled me with words

That I didn’t know about.

You blushed like an ocean in love,

Wild in blueness,

Drunk on the belief that there is no tomorrow,

And of all the millions of beautiful words that I knew,

You were the one who taught me

What being alive truly is!

Maybe there is a reason,

Why you crossed my path,

To make everything sound poetic, sadistic and charming!

I wish I could write more about you.

I wish I could stay alone and still let the world know,

How hauntingly beautiful you are!

But I can’t.

Maybe now I have forgotten what it’s like

To hold a hand,

To feel a heartbeat,

To just talk into the hours of night!

Although I still believe.

I still believe that the right poem finds us,

Exactly when it needs to!

Now the world will never know about the chaos.

No one will ever know about these words.

But you will.

With all my silly little dreams,

I’ll sink deeper and deeper,

Staring up at the beautiful sky,

Remembering how your skin felt like light!

Every time the silence gets loud,

I will pour a drink,

And even if I know the past won’t repeat itself,

But I’ll make it very sure,

That at least it’ll rhyme.