She and I
The poetry in me
Is not mine
It is hers...
And she is not me
She is the lover
And I am the wife.
She comes in me
Time and again
The uncalled for guest
Yet I always play the host.
She details her sorrows
And I listen to her
Lending my patient ears
To her endless pathos…
She gives me love
And I, my sympathies.
She beseeches me,
Implores me,
Moving me to tears,
She cries with me...
Offering me her poetry.
I offer her my
Consolation.
Telling her to live on…
So that life gets its chance
As Death comes only once
And forever…
She has been true to life,
Yet life keeps playing
With her…
Enticing her
With the hope of miracles,
Prodding her to believe in God
And some faraway dreams to live for…
Yet reasons aplenty to die for…
If Death could only come
And relieve her of this tiring game
Where Life seeks her, pursues her,
To go on striving to live
Till Death finds her
Hounded and persecuted…
And tired of living life itself.
She isn’t a Coward –
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poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Added by Poetry Lover
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