Lover & Muse   Mukta ‘Asraar’ You brought me words ever so often - you still do now and then. When I read yours, I wonder whence they come to you, how and when. I wonder if you pick them lying flat or nudge them out of a difficult chair. Do they perch on your window? Do you leave them at the station? Do they get away with mussing your hair? I picture you drawing them out of smoke and settling them with a mere stub. When I try to puff while writing my thoughts go out and lose their nub! Pausing, thinking, crossing, nodding - until you're through, do you push food away? Dazing, looming, peaking, falling, do they prefer Nyx to the light of the day? I was a lover and I found a muse - the one aye invoked in lore, Her kiss with the mark of Love I did confuse as it left a sear on my core. Rapt with all that Absinthe in my veins I staggered to seize her fading contour. Alas, she vanished! yet her gift remains. Old masters, I envy you no more. © Mukta Asnikar   This poem was first ...