Born in this time, a sorrowful decree,
No longer seeking you, but the lost me.
This city's lavish gleam, a heavy shroud,
My Mother, deep inside, I'm breaking down aloud.
But silence holds my pain, for hearts are frail and cheap,
Oh Mother, can't you see, the promises I keep?
Perhaps no grand design, my life has yet unfurled,
The gentle ease of breath, forgotten in this world.
Let judging eyes accuse, with words both sharp and keen,
They haven't seen the mirror, or what it holds within,
The countless times I've scorned, the face that looks at me.
And Death, it turns its gaze, refusing to be free,
I yearn each afternoon, for its embrace so cold,
Yet in this room, at night, my story's still untold, I am alone.

Through ages, the carbon released by the pained,
From countless sorrowful, pale, and weary souls,
A deep, long sigh that eventually rolls...
From it, carbon refined, slowly, by and by,
Gathered and set, beneath the sky...
Forming these lines of lemon trees, standing tall.
Beyond a tree's might, its very all,
A tree of poignant sorrow, a vibrant grove of ache,
A mystical plant... Rupananda's wake...
Rupasanatan's grace...
Behind each leaf, in the spaces unseen,
Fruit ripens, a clustered, fiery, hidden sheen...
Explosions of passion, in rainbow's bright hue,
With a mesmerizing beat, they push, bursting through,
Reddish lemons born anew.
I sit in faded scent, by the sorrow-tree's shade,
In the afternoon's quiet, a sacred glade.
Before me, a lemon, its halves unfurled.
Inside, seeds of pure pain, a sorrowful world,
Dense cells of anguish, I know, nothing more.
A blood-shot gaze from eyes, tears brimmed to the core,
A whipping glance, a questioning stare.
Among these seeds, which one, I wonder where,
Was born from the carbon of my mournful, fruitless sigh?
It whirls into illusion's realm, as years drift by...
Slowly, persistently, a long, quiet flight...

For ages, that letter, unopened, lies,

I don't know when last I opened these closed window eyes.

Awake, I am pondering, how fares your "first" afternoon's light?

My room's now as messy as I am tonight.

I don't recall when last the setting sun did gleam,

How much I long to ask, "Why with my heart do you scheme?"

Back then, the address was fresh, a brand new start,

To write you a letter was joy for my heart.

The diary remains, but its pages are worn and so frail,"Shreyasi," did such a one exist, a sorrowful tale?

Who brought to this foolish wanderer, such deep despair,

Today, the open breeze whispers, "Come, let's wander far, beyond all care..."

In a spring afternoon, you I did behold,
Lost in a procession, feeling rather cold.
Your enchanting song, in the air it rang,
A stray bullet came, with a deadly pang.
When did these tired eyes close, I don't know when,
To see you no more, brought a sorrow then.
Lost in the crowd, of this endless tide,
Like a weary bird, by the river side, you reside.
From where does the scent of roses flow?
In you were verses, that the world didn't know.
In the final spring, under the spell of your sight,
Your magical gaze, made me "spellbound", oh so bright!