Futile Hopes

By Ankita Nishad

I yearn for you and crave for you till the last tint of hope,

Hoping again not to hope against my reasons to cope,

Bewilderedness, time and again dominates the intellects,

Solitude, anguish and pain is all it begets.

Begetting confusions and delusions, I am left perplexed,

The ripples of which, incessantly, leaves me all vexed,

Each thought of yours leads to a thousand new tracks,

In the end of which I am always found entrapped in grave blacks.

Blacks, I had ever cherished, to form most of beautiful nights,

Those dreams for you deprived me of all my heartening mights,

Apprehensions of truth, very often takes me off my hand,

Diverges me, to sense if it is really that tough to understand?

Understanding the fact that what you took would never ever return,

And all my hopes would reverberate into aches and burns,

But then again I beseech for you till the last hue of hope,

Hoping again, not to hope, against my reasons to cope.

By Ankita Nishad