Wish I were a word of a poet

Wish i were a word of a poet

He would scrub me in his thoughts

Once swept, dusted and polished

He would toss my curls in the air full of whiffs of fragrances

Later he would dress me in Syllables of satin sparkling with sequins

No matter how bewildered his eye circles had looked

On his wet eye lashes he would hide me like a pearl

Even if his chest tightened with long hours of weariness

I would come on tiptoes and ripple his silence with my hish-hush

A million times he would think, purse and pout his lips

To utter me in the company of bards

I would be his feeble light arch in pensive hours of dark

He would cloak me even if i turned a full ripe desiccated fruit

He would preserve me on his diaries and heart's flute

Wish i were a word of a poet

He would scrub me in his thoughts

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