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Love….’

*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.’

 

*He sits down 

at the back table*

Love,

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 in vain.’

 

*He tilts his head towards one side*

Love,

 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……’

*He steals one last glimpse of him

And whispers*

 

….. you.

 

Words unsaid,

Silence robs yet another story of its start,

‘Cause there was always so much to say,

But nothing to talk.

 

– JAISMINE K.

 

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