The gala glows with amber light and grace,
Yet all I see is one forgotten face.
The world is young, a vibrant, grand design,
But void of soul since you are no longer mine.
The music swells, the silver lanterns shine,
But life is dust without your hand in mine.
Return to crush the fragments of my soul,
Make grief my crown and agony my goal.
O cruelest love, come shatter me once more,
And leave me bleeding on this lonely floor.
I beg for wounds, for one more sharp caress,
To feel your touch within this emptiness.
For in my sight, your ghost is etched in fire—
A gorgeous ache, a funeral for desire.
My frantic eyes, like beggars in the street,
Seek out your shadow in the dust and heat.
They wander lost through every crowded hall,
To find a ghost that isn't there at all.
A thousand faces pass, a thousand lies,
But none can meet the hunger in my eyes.
I claim to breathe, I claim to move and be,
But Life itself has turned its back on me.
My pulse is but a clock that’s lost its chime,
A hollow beat against the walls of time.
The world is draped in gold and velvet hue,
But it is nothing—destitute of you.
-Jairam Kshirasagar
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