Leave-taking

 I would be gone

to let you be free.

And I would be gone

to let you be free;

I would be lost
among endless existence,

in the hustle bustle of a metropolis,

never to cross your way again.

But mind you,

I have planted my love in your backyard;

soon it would have firm and deep roots,

its dense leaves everywhere to be seen.

I have written a poem of life for you,

tucked unsuspecting among the folds

of your rain coated mornings;

a silver dipped moonlit night

and all sorts of trivialities

placed inadvertently,

here and there.

Laughter a few,

the silent painting on the wall,

a paralyzing pause that

 once was winged with desire. 

I will linger on you as a memory;

I have set my soul on your thoughts;

all will keep you awake in the nights,
in your smiling eyes a strange wetness will drift.