The city you never re-visited, the phone call you never made,
You might've disappeared and bought peace, but a heavy price you paid.
You surrendered your edge and sharpness, to merge with the crowd,
'We have managed to domesticate you', with triumph they cry aloud.
The message you typed and deleted, the poem you didn't share,
You'll regret these on your deathbed, but the world doesn't care.
As long as you fit in neat boxes, all is right with this universe,
Only death can bring you closure, then you can pay homage in verse.
The magazine you never applied to, the poet you couldn't become,
The ghost of un-lived life haunts you, till life ends, and then some.
The burden in the form of the Pitru Rin, your child now carries forth,
To exorcise this ghost, let your song flow out, don't die before death henceforth.
The ending that built on my love for you, I've endlessly edited and modified,
That you could come across my unpolished mess, leaves me perennially mortified.
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