A Part of Me, A Part of her

Of all the regrets in this very life

the easiest one i assumed to posses

was the one where i could not profess

smile and greet, was all i could muster

for she was seldom alone

always to be found in a cluster.

waiting for her inside her class

to only cherish, her fleeting glance,

for there was indeed something about her

that sent me to an addictive trance

the hormones of maturity went up a dose

the rhymes thus take a backseat

and here comes the prose..

my lips in my impulsive adolescence

would seldom open in front of her

and now in my exuberant youth

they hardly pull their curtains to breath

but she sin't there with me to listen

to laugh to hold hands to take a stroll

"It was an infatuation, get over it"

my friends would say for me to move on

but like me they seemed unaware too

of the infamous and treacherous art of love..

for it lets other feelings come in it's guise

and when it decides to come, it borrows,

the garb of those very "other feelings"

fighting all the baseless inhibitions

that were fed to me from society's venomous breast

the rhyming innocence went up a notch

for meeting her felt like another fiery test.

but the moment i laid my eyes on her

i sensed a feeling that was morbid

for the rustling of pleasant winds

suddenly sounded like the cawing of crows

the innocent rhyming died again

making way for the observant prose..

she maintained a poise so formal

familiar to "the wall" cold as ice

her laugh now lacked that childlike cackle

the warmth of which melted my heart back then

her aura, which then seemed so welcoming

now seemed to detest the presence

of even my shadow on her periphery 

while parting ways, a tear escaped with strain

not to lament the failed prospect of love

but to mourn the death of her innocence

for it was indeed a part of her 

that drowned in the tides of life

and now in the tomb of innocent memories

i now pay my respects, as i lay down

the flowers of my remembrance

for this world is indeed a graveyard

where every death was once just a birth

if anything a known fact this truth is,

but in this bridge of birth and death

lies a truth hideous than imaginable

that life in its own right is a graveyard too

possessing the buried corpses 

of the ones whom we used to be

of which now we are just mere fragments

the buried tombs are now called memories

where at leisure i visit to seek

a part of me, a part of her.....