Fog

After all the myriad confusions

of your boggy mind

gets transpired into invisible 

vapors of sorrow

to the clouds of misery,

What do you expect 

to rain back at you?

Floral showers or thorn pricks?

A smiling face or an indifferent look?

I held my hands so close

to the glowing flame not to lose

you, the light of my life;

And you rejected my hands 

as they were dirty, not

knowing the color of smoke.

Seeing me through your eyes,

I have sketched me,

 cold, rude and ugly,

in contrast to my version.

The eyes are flawed, I see,

as they need glasses.

But whose , yours or mine ?

Oh man, What have you become?