AN (27-03-1985 / MUMBAI)

Season Of Love

Spare a thought, this season of love,
For that poor little loveless soul,
Who spends the days in morbidity, and how,
For him the bell does toll...
For everywhere he turns, are twain entwined,
Doth sing out to him, the robins and jays,
But he alone is alone, says his mind,
Deliverance, for deliverance he prays...
With flowers abloom, birds in the air,
When lovers meet without a care;
Solitude envelops him, like clear blue bubbles,
And remind him so of his troubles...
For a kindred soul, he looks around,
But emptiness replies, without even a sound...
Spare him his misery, leave him be...
For his mangled heart has hurt and bled so,
The depth of his pain, for lack of a love,
Is for everyone to see, he has nowhere to go...

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