I am dying in my love to him,

Lest I choose over, I'd fall off the brim,

Am withering like a flower at dim,

With the love given out not returned by him,

The contusions from his confusions now grim,

The very thought of the past love hymn;

Even with the understanding, I skim,

The part where it's good to leave him,

Even that thought is hard to sink,

For him I would still oceans swim,

But as the truth shows the mirage fades close to whim,

He was never in this folk I created like Grimm.

The closer we reach to the mirage, the more we realize how it was never there in the first place.

Chaahat