the secret affair- the story forward

She asked,”I see you, and I then see myself

there is so much of ‘You’ in ‘Me’

and so much of ‘I’ in ‘You’

yet, I call you, ‘You’

and call myself ‘I’

Where, my dear, is the “we”?

He smiled once again

amused this time

at the innocence of his lady.

Wrapped in his arms she heard him say,

“You are a testimony of the fact

that I am capable of love,

You are the bearer

and the manifestation of

my love.

But ‘we’ is the site of its

inception and culmination.”

A lot had gone by between them

and a lot was yet-to follow.

what went back was a part of lovely past

and the yet-to follow was adventure wrapped.

so lovely was that desire

that they dreaded reality

so blissful was reality

that they dreaded desiring!

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from the scattered bits…

Among the meadows lie those lines
etched by the steps of your lady
and across the plain you stand
beholding her and her beauty.

The spark of her eyes
lacks neither beauty nor serenity?
On your canvas white
does that tranquility still reflect gaiety?

Did it never draw u to lower your brush?
Did the beauty not dazzle you enough?
Did you feel that moment when she did blush?
Was it a moment in trance filled with love?

Relentless Admiration

My speech stammers
and my verses wither.
The cacophony of my song
…these unpleasant rhythms
and still it’s a beauty.

My speech falters,
my verses are charmless,
my song…unpleasant
and still it’s a beauty.

The gleam is lost.
The spark is gone,
the hope, long lost.
And I fail to conjure it,
to keep it alive
and still it’s a beauty.

I miss you already.
I don’t miss the voice alone.
The way you asserted
and laughed along
and yet it’s a beauty.

I miss the presence.
I miss them all.
I miss those sleepy eyes,
those lovely nights,
writing those effortless rhymes
and yet,
still it’s a beauty.

But to wait on your call,
to look at you coming along.
This absence that
reminds me of you.
That is the beauty of these hours.
The beauty of these hours
that I spend waking and waiting…