Oh my worship

She is you O Pooja,
For whom I had written "Respect, thy name is woman,."
As these words came spontaneously from my bosom.

She is you, o spotless Kohinoor,
Whom I discovered from the coalmines,
of the selfish, dishonest and crooked mass.

She is you O noble lady,
Whom I regarded as my only true  friend, 
well-wisher, philosopher and guide.

She is you O heavenly bliss,
Whom I worshiped as a goddess,
in each of my romantic verses.

True that you are away today,
We do not meet, do not talk today.

But that does not  mean I will have  dirt for you in my thought,
And pollute the sacred Ganges of love  that flows in my heart.

That too don't mean my love will be perverted or lessen,
Or my verses will take a negative  direction.

Be it whatsoever the cause,
Be it howsoever big my distress.