"A Ghost I Do Not Call"

She comes not back—nor would I pray That fate should cast her steps this way. Yet oft, when silence fills the air, I turn, as if she lingers there. The wind that stirs the withered leaves, The knock the restless midnight heaves, The whisper lost in halls of stone— They wake a name I do not own. I seek her not—no vow remains, No love endures where absence reigns. Yet O! What cruel tricks the mind Still plays on hearts it leaves behind. I ask not love, nor dream her face, But only yearn for that lost place— The world that bloomed when she was near, Ere joy was dust, and hope was mere. So go, thou shade, unbind thy spell— Let peace return where sorrow fell. – Deep Prasanna Roy