Still I Paint Pictures

Some feelings remain wordless,
vivid only in the heart's deep chambers.
Her eyes are closed—
as if woven in mystery's spell
some untold tale.

Love, cracked and brittle,
drowned in disbelief!
Hours dissolved in emptiness,
a kiss barely warm,
less touch
than the lingering weight of time.
In darkness you had your place,
yet in sorrow I do not reach for you—
in teardrops I kindle unspoken yearning.

On the mind's canvas I paint your portrait,
haven't seen you in so long—
then why did you give me
that red hibiscus flower one day?

That day you wept,
gentle rain touched the path.
Pressing your ear to your heart's depths, were you listening—
in silent sighs
for that hidden kiss
that would slowly merge with every pore?

From acquaintance to union—
one long expanse,
on flame tree petals I've written your name
again and again, soundlessly.
Fate's cruel jest—
I carry still,
unbearable sorrow's weight.

In unequal love
seeking perfection—
is that sin?
Whatever is pure,
that alone is love's true form.
Just as I grasped this truth,
suddenly bangles chimed their heavy song—
death's one silent tune.