When I look at your eyes cold,
My hopes and my life scattered,
How I miss the warmth of your hold.
Bright mornings seem like winters,
And dull the colours that were once bold,
I wish you were here right now,
To laugh with me or to scold.
Death comes to everyone, I know,
But why did it come so early?
Should have let you stay a little longer,
Or should have taken even me.
© Darshana Mehta