My Grecian Urn

By Kirtiman Hazarika

My Grecian Urn, she lives and breathes,

Her Beauty affords no boundless Joy.

Her countenance to temptation leads,

Where I enamoured become her Troy.

My Urn, she does not know nor spurn,

She shall not read my maimed meter,

For she does not see nor turn,

To meet my Gaze that rose to meet her.

She does not know my Ash resides,

In her wounding, living, brilliant Eyes,

Her Soul consuming mine decides,

To pinion me in a thousand Sighs.

A Fool proclaimed of Joy and Beauty,

But failed to feel my shackled Love,

That Nothingness escapes me in my Duty,

To live, to love, to leave in cold Death thereof.

By Kirtiman Hazarika