The silent yearning to become a poem,
And not the poet, just once—
For to be a writer
Is to weave tragedy into
The soft allure of words.
And so, I say,
I’ll always be a poet,
Only the paper will know
The depth of my love for you.
My ink, forever bound
To bleed for you alone.
Yet, the sorrow remains:
You’ll never know you've been immortalized in verse,
By a heart you’d never think of.

~Keshav S.