You, a resplendent wind,
sparkling and alive in everything
taking me into your lap, lulling
me into deepening sleep,
motionless.

You, a melting fire,
numbing the impulses within me
tempting me to enthrall myself
amid the pains of obscured
association.

You, a blazing sapphire,
standing still, applauding sagaciously
my memories, that while unearthing
I thought would neither fade away
nor wither away.

You, a scintilating shore,
wiping out the captive thoughts I
had chosen, meticulously for the
memoirs I would be marveling into
while being in suffocating solitude.

You, a mesmerizing suave,
queering the traces of momentariness,
I so exquisitely believed, would remain
with me mitigating the discomforts of my
frail sorrow.

You, a despairing hope,
tremulously calming the oddities of
unfathomable bliss that I thought
would compensate for the exalted dreams,
severed from the realities.

You, a guileless treasure,
beguiling the naiveties of wanton
desires that I thought would sleep with
me on those beds of dreamless dreams
where alienness reigned supreme.

You, a stirring thought,
worming your way through the
stymied layers of my unknowable
mind where calmly rested the
conspicuousness of your presence.

You, a shrimped time,
fleeting, fleeting and fleeting
leaving me with the time’s glint
of uncontrollable absurdities,
my very own creation.

You, an infinite inspiration,
transgressing the boundaries of the
mind wherein lay unclad the
countervailing reminiscences of
retrieved past, dwindling.
All this praise, you deserve, as
“Such praise is yours-and such shall you possess,”
( Pope in To Belinda)

In the memoirs and in the dreams,
in the illusions and in the
hallucinations, in the morbidities
of imaginative quietude and in the
subdued beam of fading hope,
I keep staying, unmindful of who
you are.