He glaces from a corner
‘Won’t be much to look at.
But whenever it’d smile,
Every thing of Beauty
Would seem to lose its lustre.’
at the back table….
Won’t readily unfurl its chapters,
Like an extrovert, chatty, receptionist.
It’d rather let you explore
Its every single aspect,
But from afar;
Like the Moon magnetizing a Poet,
Yet not all in vain.’
tilts his head towards one side
Won’t let you gaze into its eyes
For long, sweet, hours;
Sighing at the emptiness of its untasted touch.
It’d rather offer embarrassingly stolen glances,
Made to commemorate
Under the abyss above the Stars.’
thoughts dreamily claim….
‘Love won’t crave
For another moment to glide in.
Instead, it’d cherish
The short-lived memories;
Afraid of losing its fading rush.’
‘Rough around the edges,
Residing in unkempt sketches,
Not as feathery
As the World fancies,
Cuckoo’s morning lesson:
Love would rather look something like……’
stealing one last glimpse of him
Silence robs yet another story of its start,
‘Cause there was always so much to say,
But nothing to talk.
– JAISMINE K.