A storm, yet silent
Angellicaly peaceful, yet violent,
Love-struck, yet churning scorching hate,
My dear God, this heart, did thou create?
Enjoying the wait, at the door of a shrine,
Without any promise blessed unto the soul of mine,
I wait, and wait, and wait, with a smile,
To get the gem of a single clear sign.
A footstep? I hear, ‘Is the door being opened?’
I stand up and knock, ‘Are you there Miss Broken?’
Silence is served; Maybe there was no sound,
Thinking this my heart just frowned.
As I sit again to wait on the porch,
Somebody inside lit a torch.
‘Oh! Angel, monk, priest whatever are you,
Open the door and let me have a look at you.
If thou be an angel then I shall touch thy lips.
If thou be a cursed demon, I shall embrace thou and kiss.’
Silence prevails yet, a test of my devotion,
Maybe someday the shrine’s door will stop this commotion.
But to my dismay, I fail this test.
An impatient soul is what I possess.
Still, for you, I will wait,
Knock at the shrine’s door again some other day.
Hopefully, it doesn’t get too late,
Another pilgrimage till then shall I take.