Not my fault, I would say, so would he

I did my best, and so did he, he said.

But, the canyon widened between us

everyday, every minute, hopeless, I watched,

the edge dissolve into the hazy mist,

sinister, cruel, and towards the perfect

ending it creeps, ever so slowly, frustrating.

I said, but never talked, he heard,

but never listened, the impending truth,

effortlessly dismissed, true though,

ignored it, when it could have changed,

the sun shine, the edge clear and sharp,

and the ominous mist through.

One eve, years ago, we strolled by the beach,

I clung on to his hand, never the other way round.

And kept hopping, every other step, keeping pace.

It was still good, cherishable memories, rare

oases in deserts. I never felt the sea water,

I was happy, not free, and living, not alive,

and when I grew up, I was just plain afraid, doubtful,

and doubts are stifling, even despair is better,

despair is pure and spotless, doubts confusing.

Surely, you did your job, and nothing much,

may be I hoped better, and why shouldn’t I?

It matters not what is done. Bygone be bygone.

I am what I am, and May be, You played a role.

                                                                       ~Sushruta Mishra

                                                                         Kharagpur, India