For someone you were month of lust,
But for me an inspiration and trust!
Within your thirty one lovely days,
I read a few too romantic plays.
Though couldn’t watch on the stage,
But I broke the grills of the old cage,
I forgot my grown old exhausted age,
I never claim friends I am a sage,
Yes I tried to fly too high, very high,
Had to come on earth with a cold sigh!
Not too much, was a little injured,
Now all right, and I am cured,
Not immature, I am matured,
Thanks My God! I am self-censured.
But the soft corner evolved in the heart,
Makes me sometimes over smart!
Not yet dead, sentiments are dormant,
Matter is there, elements are dormant,
World is alive, continents are dormant,
Passion is there, temperaments are dormant,
The inspiration once got shall remain forever,
Can a friend be forgotten, no, no, never!
It’s not mistrust; it’s still a trust,
It wasn’t merely an attraction of lust,
I’m a failure in removing the dust,
I should regret, yes I must,
In my poetry an element of sorrow!
That’s all from her, I could borrow!
With August she came, with August she went,
Thank you August, you really meant,
Like a gone beauty’s never dying scent,
I’ll never forget this lovely advent,
The memoirs will play always their role,
An old man’s heart this August stole!