Sinless Birch

An empty church, A lonely bride

A mourning cross, A heart that died.

Look deep in the pool; A sinner still lives,

Tears ooze out, A love still brews.


Blessed with the mark of destiny’s whip,

He lived a prisoner of the sinking ship.

She gave him freedom, he aspired it not

Cursed silver from the pious lot.


Death was near, it always was

To claim the soul, fulfil it cause

But it came so late, lost in shade,

Boon or bane, the miseries of fate.


For foolish feelings rolled in time,

They both swam in the river of lime.

Call on to the hand that writes all plays

To justify this act where tragedy stays.


To give them freedom and moments and hope

And push them slightly of the slope.

To give them love, A dream, A day;

Then shatter all that, like a castle of clay.


Amidst the journey he eloped with death,

An aesthetic agony is love shibboleth.

She weeped in vain, her soul in pain,

Brumal grim of a fiendful rain


The rays of hell, scatter by heavens lens

Seemed so sour, her convalescence

The weary wish, ebbed and glazed,

Across the faith, her vision dazed


This much is the story and for that sinless birch,

A lonely bride and an empty church.

Asim Rafiq Mulla

Asim Rafiq Mulla's picture

Brought up in Karwar, a small town in Karnataka, India, Asim Mulla is the new coming of age poet who takes you a step closer to base human emotions.

Last updated October 16, 2015