Be no proud; lay no rose,
Ov’r the pages written by wraith,
Nude by thy sable garb woes;
In the brimes of sleepless nights i bathe.
I call to i; beget my words,
Let i write the ink of fine,
Scatt’rred smile of perjured lust;
On purpose laid to sweeten a whine.
On dreary love thee lie,
Far far aloof i sail,
Art of death; thee passes by,
Ghastly, oh thy blood pale.
I will ask not thou to behold,
Nor gaze upon me,
Stay i be, in the worst winter cold,
Thus my weep remember thee.
Charms of thy need i repine,
In silence of dreamless sleep,
Days of laughter, thought’d mine;
Worn beauties of fade i keep.
Things unborn, unwilling to explain;
Walked back in rain, from the saddest lane,
Thing that are gone, before the dawn;
Gravely love and grief shade of wane.
Slept to apprise the night,
All my found colour’d light
And fine love endears,
I thus abets to stay all rest years.
Photography : @sahilbhambri (me)