When the various attempts fail.
You become a sage.
Always I will question
the unveiled moon, why anger was
surging in the disturbed night?
Let me complete
my story. Will you wait
for my final confession?
When my pain
morphs into a poem, I
will discover myself-
in your absence.
And when you put on purposely,
the pink- lipglow, I go lonely.
The gift of parting
was the death wish for a fluttering moth,
to fly towards the glittering flame.