One lucky book

girl and book

Gleaming mysterious eyes

So close to the eyes,
like a reflection in the mirror.
Pounding on the heart,
like constant beating with a hammer.

A course of nature,
probably went so bad.
Holding hands are,
now standing up to wave goodbye.

Like the drops of rain,
So intact while in the air.
We too shatter like them,
The moment they hit the ground.

Flashes of memories,
appearing and disappearing
Like a lighting,
That follows the thunderstorm.

Standing before the mirror,
staring at the reflection,
Where am I lost?
All I see,
Are the colors.
Blurred and fussy,
It feels like
the mind is dipped-
in a deep thick fog.

All the senses lost.
I can hear,
can’t listen.
I can look,
can’t see.
I can sense,
can’t feel.
Just staring in the mirror,
Not sure whose reflection
am I staring at(?)

And then an image appears
A photograph.
A face.
behind a book.
Held by those
soft and fair hands.
Gleaming eyes peeking
behind the book.
A mischievous look in them.

A nose,
those tender lips,
and chubby cheeks,
pressed against the pages.
I can imagine it all,
can’t feel.
A photograph of her,
hiding behind the colored pages.
I captured it
in black and white.

And I murmured softly,
‘Oh dear how I envy you,
For you’re a
One lucky book.’





Blood, as it passes,
Through the veins, into the heart.
Its speed suddenly rises, when I see her,
And the heart starts beating fast.

Those tousled hair strands,
That falls over her face
Makes me understand,
Her captivating beauty along with her grace.

She is a Fear,
She is a Sweetheart.
She is Strength,
That blooms life’s every part.

I looked up in the sky,
So huge it was, one can lose in its infinity,
I wondered, however,
How do her tiny eyes manage to do that?

A tiny fear still crumbles,
In her spacious, loving heart.
What if someone sees us?
Will it be bad or not?

I say to this,
The World has eyes, let them see.
Without any critics,
What fun lies in publicity?

The future is bright,
You need to believe me.
And stop making assumptions,
They are like the branches of a chopped tree.

It was just yesterday,
So alluring it was when you sat across on that chair.
Soon you went away, and all that was left was,
The empty chair and your reflection.

I feel the shortage of words,
But I think I have said enough.
Still there’s not a feeling of completion?
Sadly, you have to wait until the new edition.