‘You seemed to love her deeply’
I told my uncle.
It was raining dense
As I held him back,
The evening was not one to go out.
‘Deeply enough no doubt’
His voice echoed in gloom.
‘But she wasn’t your type,
she was flirtatious,
she had many like you’.
‘Still I loved her deep,
loved her mad,
loved her till and after
she broke my heart’.
I saw a glint in his eyes.
‘Forty years and she still hurts,
batters my self respect,
taunts my defeats’.
‘But you got yourself a steady partner,
not flirtatious, never leaving your side’.
‘True but she did the damage,
she left me to seek her in all women’.
Outside the rain stopped
And the sky begot a half moon.
He still loves her, I pondered,
Her fossil he bears
All these forty years,
But had he got her,
Could he carry the cross of love so far?
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Comments about this poem (Half Moon by Pradip Chattopadhyay )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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