My Answer

She called an autumn,

With no spring awaiting.

She called a poetic interlude,

Which should end.

She named it a friendship,

Which has withered..


She knows, like all wise women,

I am fumbling ,

with endless questioning.

I called her secretive,

She would, alas, be secretive.


I am not supposed to reply,

I should let time fly by,

Ghosh, I give my sigh.


Oh I forget it should end quietly,

Its her wish and I comply helplessly

It didn’t because I wrote something.

Tabula rasa ,nihilism and nothing.


She said, I drew a line ,

in the sands of time.

The line was she

Which was awashed in the sea.

With shock,disbelief and sarcasm

I tell thee,

"How could you be so wrong?

The line was drawn by you and not me?"


I will tell you the only answer.

The answer which will demystify,

the mystified.

The answer will question,

The unquestioned.


It is an answer

with lot of questions,

full of sadness,pain and hopeless notions.

The answer , my only friend.

The answer, my soul mate.

The answer, my fate.

It is my Silence.