What shall I write on the next page?

I wrote with ashes

The mocking rain washed away

I wrote on the sand on the beach

The drunken river swallowed in

I wrote on the leaves

The power-hunger caterpillars ate it.

You came with no reason

You went with the seasons

You came when I was spring-blossomed

You went when I was winter-barren

I was not spring externalist.

The cut was deepest ever

Uprooted my heart- cold hut

I tried to drink you with wine

My drunken heart wail for you louder

I tried to finish you like the smoke from my cigarette

But you seem like the clouds;

Externalist of my heart

I ask for you to the moon every night

Like you, moon changes with the mood of the night

I ask for you to the sun every dawn

Like you, its shines vary with the wealth of the day.

All my sentences are paralyzed

Where I used to rest;

Breathing the perfume of finest lady-

Her wetted lips on my eyes;

Poisoning kisses on my eyes-

Nothing seems beautiful than she is:

The warn air from her hypnotizing hips

Burnt my hand when I touched it;

That was the time I knew:

 The earth was the most beautiful place to live in.

I never urge to fight with the truth:

The truth of our departure

Nothing seems vengeful than my silence

Silence is my weapons.

My diary has no page

My pen has no ink

No tomorrow, no classes or periods

If I have to write, write on the diary of my heart

What shall I write on the next page?

                                                                        -Sajan