SIGNATURE

The clouds are cosmopolitan Which are spread all over the welkin Without even heeding the contentious frontiers They float, fly and flee Appear and disappear in no time When they are benign, they are artists Who draw the perfect ephemeral art in the firmament When they are hostile, they are ferocious And lash out the dance of torrents They are the travellers Who observe every culture and take part in them often They are transient yet sluggish time and again

This pain, my dear,  is perennial  Like waves in the ocean  You can't wait till I'm done  I can't either come to you before I'm done And we are in two alien worlds unconnected  Hence I am incomplete And I can never be myself without you Nor can you be yourself without me And the two incomplete selves in two opposite poles Struggle to put up with all agonies And this life to me, my dear, is a river sans its flow Where I'm on a brittle boat without my oars Here what I have with me is A saturated feel of emptiness Bleak and blurred At last what remains is  A bizarre state of nothingness

Every 'Why' has a 'Because' But most of them are not counted!