The Forgotten

By Samhita Anand

It all began with the tall lad

The one every lady swooned over

Whose words were molded like clay

He wielded his sword-childs play

Then I met the man with eyes green

A bit of a sly smile and an air of mystery

He was the first to make me cry, first to make me smile

And the first to make me feel like I wanted to die

They say the third times a charm, I say no

It was many moons after the second,

It was real in the realest sense, soft as cotton

Yet I pitifully declare that he will be the first forgotten

Why waste pretty parchment on the idlings of a lad

Who will only pay u attention when u are clad

In those pretty robes, all those silk clothes

Why do I waste time, when I can be glad

Many years hence this list shall grow

Or stay stagnant for I do not know

What my capabilities are, what I feel and what I know

But I will find a man, I will find the best!

And most importantly one, who I shall never forget.

By Samhita Anand