I look at my window, casually, every noon
I look at the out-world beyond my world
Immaturelly, to get relief out of sordid boon
Although I'm a half grown old.

Casually I watch the world, out of window-pane
Waiting for none; but I shine in grief
When she- -dear she, walks between the lane.
I shout in vain, although she is deaf.

I wait for nothing, but her often-
I died many in love for her
I died in love for Ten,
Although loves me not she, my dear.

Pijush Biswas

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dear-she-loves-me-not/