O Friend
O friend, tickle the strings of thy voluptuous lyre
And rend all air with musical sound-
Such sound, that I might drown
All my misery, my universe and my love
Yes, this love that cans't be mine
That gold will buy love matters not,
A fair foul fancy, if love were aught.
O friend play - dispel misery in the air,
Revive agonies, set my heart on fire
Play o play upon thy lyre,
that I may have extremity of despair. [1960]
poem by Om Chawla
Added by Poetry Lover
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