A Token of Your Love

Tucked up my sleeve I keep
The token of your love, all day long;
With bustle and toil at every step,
With my body broiling in heat,
I keep concealed your love in a cool niche of my heart;
In the evenings, after I roll down my sleeves,
I tuck up the emblem of your love
Near my cup of tea;
Oh! What aroma erupts from the cup, boiling,
What fragrance; withered though is
The token of your love, a tiny insignificant blob
On the calendar of change; but to me
This insignificant prop means
More than all the magnificent teas
In the world.
The token of your love, this bereft, melancholy,
Skin of a rose, a tiny bright spot
Amongst the gray shades of nostalgia.
How I adore it.
Those moments I now claim,
Where moving to the train,
Your glance, as a lance, hit me deep,
Rupturing and splintering my tough cast;
Soft as a bud was my heart, and I wept
Under the shadow of my gloom;
Not one tear did show under my lids
Nor a single scream did escape my lips;
Heavily, though, heaved my lost heart;
No tear was apparent in the fabric of my gloom,
Tough as silk was the skin of my grief.
Amongst the scattered leaves of Autumn
Shone and beckoned a spot of a rose;
Dear to me than all the loves
The world has to offer, I cherish
The token of your love