Devil Wears the Purdah

Beautiful eyes, 

mesmerizing eyes,

Strings of the beautiful guitar,

She was in her, little frock with a fountain

 hair.

The words were lost, 

when I never know what it was,

A feeling, which I couldn't explain.

Life started in an industry, 

Where I realized, 

I differed from her, in origin.

Where they called her she, 

and me as he.

Time passed, 

our casual attire changed.

Uniform united us, in the name 

of grades and education but 

not in from the perspective of 

humankind.

The trend changed, 

accompaniments changed.

Pedagogy changed, 

The destiny too changed.

Where she chooses to be a literature laurel,

the boulevard laid by her NRI family, 

and I choose to be the slave, 

of a so-called freedom India.

Time flew by, 

the distance spanned by,

the relation flew by.

We were, united by technology, 

but not by the heart.

Where she saw me as a friend, 

and I saw her as more than a crush.

The moment remained, 

she remains beautiful, 

with heart and birthdate.

The scattered memories 

languished to dominate her.

Where she lost, 

the encapsulated time. 

The neurons failed her.

Where she failed, to recollect direction,

to home, and then towards the loved ones.

The girl, who once was a daughter,

a sister, a friend a colleague started

questioning, when she encountered 

a known stranger.

It's a myth, that memories die with time.

Dementia doesn't show mercy, a penalty that many may bore with no insurance

Where memories and love get buried forever where science becomes speechless.

The devils have so many forms.

When it comes, to the curse of consuming the forbidden fruit.

Where she remains my love, 

with me seeing her forbearance, 

by being a helpless bystander.

An ordinary, a devotee who waned in the 

the crusade, stooping to God to be 

her guardian to strengthen her family.