Remembering My Love

I said sorry to myself
For loving with heart.
And she acted with skill
For fun and to desert.

I became dumd
For a day or two.
I wished her good
And wiped all my woe.


For her I was second
She was my first.
I became a prey
As she glanced a cast.


We kept it secret
Friends oonly knew it.
We met once or twice
They knew not a bit.


I gazed at her pic
When all offed their light.
Pretended to read
Till mid of the night.

There came Valentine's day
I wanted to present a rose
She rejected twice
As she feared her boss.

Okay, I said to her
And kept it safe.
Today I looked at it
It's dry and fade.


I uttered in silence
O my lovely Rosie.
I forgot you not
Though I'm busy.

You wanted what
Today I became.
But couldn't erase
You and your name.

Why did you desert?
I asked you never
How could you be silent?
I may not know ever.

We may not meet again
On this earth.
Rosie, on my part
Love wasn't dearth.

Still I keep my hope
To unite again
And be yours ever
As I remain.

Be happy Rosie
I kept wishing.
And wishing now
As I'm passing.

by Trailakya Roy

Comments (4)

Various moralistic tracts from Mediaeval times onwards lamented the way the soul was neglected in favour of the body, and there was a long tradition of dialogues held between the two. It is probable that the debate goes back to ancient times and to Stoic beliefs, for Stoicism despised worldly and material goods in favour of the spiritual life, and Neo-Platonism elevated the soul to a status well above that of the body.
However this sonnet derives probably from a more homely tradition and relies more upon the moral opprobrium heaped upon extravagant displays of wealth by writers with a puritanical or jealous cast of mind, and perhaps also on sermons delivered from the pulpits.
It is said that this is one of Shakespeare's profoundly religious sonnets, almost the only religious one. Profoundly meditative might be a better description, since it nowhere mentions God, although it certainly considers the threat of impending death. Within the sonneteering tradition there had also developed a tradition of renunciation. The lover, tired of endlessly battering at the impregnable walls of the beloved's chastity, might as a final protest retire to the contemplative and religious life. To a certain extent the germ of this trend had been sown by Dante and Petrarch. http: //www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out