When the various attempts fail.
You become a sage.

Always I will question
the unveiled moon, why anger was
surging in the disturbed night?

Let me complete
my story. Will you wait
for my final confession?

When my pain
morphs into a poem, I
will discover myself―
in your absence.

And when you put on purposely,
the pink― lipglow, I go lonely.

The gift of parting
was the death wish for a fluttering moth,
to fly towards the glittering flame.