next lifetime

in my next lifetime

i'd rather be the person

on whom the artist thrives. 

i'd be his muse, vocals, 

words, whispers and 

secret or suns and moons. 

in my next lifetime

i'd read myself written by him, 

the way he sees me, 

exactly he sees the peace

the way he paints me, 

exactly he paints the wings. 

in my next lifetime

if i'll choke covertly 

just he squeezed all the ink, 

then i'll be his last living

masterpiece in the world. 

in my next lifetime

i'd not write the stories 

of him and me and you. 

it's the muse i too wish to see

how you treat my words, 

poems, fables, emotions. 

in my next lifetime

i'd not recite sacred chants 

of god and his altruism. 

it's my artist who'll lead me 

to follow the religion he believes in

just to get imprinted in his epics. 

in my next lifetime

i'd rather be incompatible

with the treachery, lies, 

foes, torture and blood. 

they would haunt me, 

he will write about my fears. 

in the next lifetime

i'd see the rising sun, 

the rushing crowd, 

the insecure town, 

the imperative illness, 

the exiled opinions, 

the fragility of beginnings, 

the wars, wines and weapons, 

still i'd not write, 

still i'd not write. 

in the next lifetime, 

i hope he writes about

the one who is leaving

numerous arts on him

for him in this lifetime. 

- chetna 🌻