You are to me.

You read all my poems,
They have only one truth,
And the truth is you,
No one but you,
And my immense love for you.
Yes, it hurt me hard,
When you went away annoyed,
But did my pen stumble?
Did it ooze black ink?
No, it continued to ooze pink,
It will continue to ooze pink,
Irrespective of your presence or absence.
The day it will think
Of oozing black ink,
I will break the nib,
Throw it away to the dustbin,
You know what you are to me.