A song stays undone,
With no tune, it stood unsung.
A forgotten echo, reverberates from afar,
But nay shall I tune it, let it stay unsung.
The tune did hum; a memory quivered on my lips,
A distant tinnitus; sung with your voice afresh,
Our heads then moved in a sprightly trance,
We crooned a duet of our ballad undone.
Under the gulmohar tree, saffron clothed in spring,
Lying on your lap, writing our lines; nay not prim,
Tuned I the last line, in moods that ebbed from your heart,
Of this undone poem, ever after unsung song.
Sung with voices, in dissonance it came,
Tears frosted; a hazy mist on glass.
Discord creeping, rusted the wet violins strings,
Made the song unsung, and all undone.
In solitude, as I sung those lines in brooding pain,
I found the lines to our poem undone.
But I just left it, fading written with an inkless pen,
Etched; painful acrid vinegar’s sting, for we now not one,
And it froze as a poem undone, with a tune unsung.
