your love took all with it but this sweet pain,
you rendered your sleek spell in this neat pain.
the skies are split open by the heat’s rage,
i smouldered to the whims of this elite pain.
you dropped all pretense, spilled my discreet truths,
i am left bloodied by our defeat’s pain.
you are not my soul, not a complete stop,
i won’t be richer by your deceit’s pain.
all this loss made us change our concrete ways,
still i lost you to this obsolete pain.
do not go to find your past life’s street-mark —
Priceless, you’ll no more love your heartbeat’s pain.
© Anmol Arora
A half-hearted ghazal — linking it up with The Tuesday Platform at WRT