Poem 7

                     Disjunctive Strive

It haunts me day and night,

That memory made me sigh

Of thy convalescing plight,

The fury of losing makes me high,

And revert me then to journey foresight;

Gladly I tried to omit your height,

but again those stairs took away, my try,

And left me to ponder, again, a sign of sigh.

                                              - IshikaJain

* It is a one stanza poem containing eight lines; an octave.