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An enigmatic love poem, by Ayub, exclusively for Different Truths.
Not I,
My poem inscribes you,
It inscribes the delicacy of candles of your hands
In her lines,
With the colours of dawn of spring
It inscribes the wonders of your hazel eyes.
The secret of your lies
Truths, expediencies and beauty of your expediencies
O! My sweetheart
It inscribes the melody of your beauty
On the rhythm of my heartbeats
My sweet,
It inscribes melancholy of my days,
Hurriedness of viewing the way
From you may come.
The poem is mine,
But in the pauses of pulsation I find
Soft fall of your steps and all contours, dots, lines, circles,
And the unseen chapters of your figure,
It inscribes morns and eves of your glowing forehead,
On whiteness of the paper,
Sometimes composes a theme,
Out of your thick locks,
And sometimes makes a verse,
Out of your smouldering breaths,
Sometimes steals the title for its own self,
From the warmth of your being,
Sometimes counsels me for fusion with you,
On the banks of your eyes, lips and curves of your body,
In such a manner, my poem inscribes you,
For the sake of me.
Photo from the Internet
