On that day when you gallantly got up, <br />And started engraving with knife our names, <br />On the trunk of the shady silver oak tree, <br />With boyish charm, as if playing a game… <br /> <br />I urged, it’s cruel, don’t… it too hurts. <br />You nonchalantly said, “Don’t be silly”. <br />I looked away, disconcerted, as you added <br />Trees are not people, they have no feelings. <br /> <br />we met one year back, let's enjoy our anniversary, <br />Indulgently smiling, you said, “Let’s go and visit <br />That grove in the hills where you got angry <br />And just reminisce and for a while sit <br /> <br />Under the tree which bears testimony <br />To my love for you…” I kept quiet <br />But gave in to your relentless plea. <br />You turned your face away at the sight <br /> <br />The tree stood bare, shrivelled and desecrated <br />By graffiti… disbelief and anguish in your eyes <br />How could our names be deciphered? <br />I turned away, wishing I had not been right…<br /><br />Mamta Agarwal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-times-you-wish-you-were-not-right/
