Fumes of a burning soul

One day when I have no place to go, even now I do so; I will search all my old text that I scribbled in your thoughts, lessons that you taught, in my state of bewildered trance, and recollect the days I spent in solitude, with gratitude to love that made me write like a bee collecting nectar even after knowing there will come somebody wild and suck the life out of the soul; the nectar collected after thousand toils.

I will commemorate every magical moment you enchanted me with you accidental glimpse over my mortal physical body to suffice my soul with the warmth of amniotic. I will conjure the moments you dug my heart to bring the polished diamond drop to the edge of my eye lashes.

You stayed always a repelling opposite poll and made me confused to conclude nature of attraction works with only human natural force and not with occult deity’s source. It was a two edged sword did I hold, used my trodden heart as its scabbard without any fold, the perplexity either to give up or follow up is a pain all over my soul.

Your every hesitation and my frustration many a time cuddled up to waste drops of ink on a paper and made myself conclude a schizophrenic when I read back what it is on the paper, then I tore. All my waits end up in a situation which always a pathetic waste of time; waste of time in the wrong place to wait.

Not even a fraction of a second you hid yourself in my mind but to substitute you hide yourself whenever my eye lid vibrates towards your direction.  Love is a song of beauty, music composed with melancholy, lyrics written with harmony.  You made my hymn with everything along with longing pain and your image's strain.

I neither ask you to love me back nor contemplate my burning soul.  A day will come, for a fraction of a millisecond my image will cross your beautiful mind and if you have time, for my solace, just say ‘rest in peace’.