An old paper, an old poem and an old friend

On my most recent trip back home, I found something while I was rummaging through the attic. A folded piece of paper. It was really old, and yet incredibly familiar. I unfolded it very carefully and it revealed a piece of poetry that I had composed when I was in 10th grade. That was more than a decade ago.

The paper was in tatters, fragile even, almost like parchment old beyond centuries, the writing had faded out and yet it triggered a flush of memories that I thought I had forgotten. As if it happened just yesterday. The feeling is just inexplicable. I only just finished patching it up with tape and soon I shall take it to a shop to get it laminated, but before that I'd like to put it in a form that cannot be destroyed by age. I could've rewritten it, made it better, but I want to preserve a part of me that was.

Here it goes:

Behold my heart, wherest thou going?

Shattering my dreams, leaving me in agony

Tell me , were they all phoney

My dreams that together we shall sing?

Stoppeth thy work, aye dear Sun!

Hold thy glitter, aye sweet star!

Why from me thou take her afar,

What doth I to earn thy shun!

Why art thou so , O cruel time!

Setting fire such to my bosom,

Which is still but a blossom

why? Hath I committed any crime?

For the past few days she's grown fonder

'tis her company I delight

That I find vanishing in twilight.

Building up in the hills yonder.

No song, no gift can find me solace

But if aye birds and flowers heed my request,

I shall succeed to fulfill my little quest

Of the one who hath God's grace.

So I live my wish to fondle

her; and have her embraced,

And my dreams that had been so hazed,

Thus shall drink thy love's tipple

The fruits of which I shall scythe

And God forbid may I fail, arrange a requiem

For I see twilight yonder in a dim

That would tell you my love's myth.

Stop! my life that is long thy weep!

Quothe I o heart! I want no fray

Let not love blind take thou astray

Though memories of her shall thy keep!

Alas! Away from me hath she runneth for miles;

Yet I love her and owe her no hate

But the sorrow hath pierced my bosom inchoate

Stoppeth aye heart! for thy grief is futile!

I turned this piece of paper and there are a few comments from one of my friends then. A friend who is no longer with us now, an now I realize this is a sad memory. And yet cherish it . I shall!