Hands in hands , feet drenched in carpets of sand
He might be picking up the best of words for his verse
From her radiant eyes; his ever new darling.
A shooting star meanwhile ,will
i hope let loose its curls,
a spray of dusk-perfumed-clouds would descend down
And then first downpour of Monsoon
Would sing my saga to him
which he has long forgotten
and dismissed as another chapter of the past
.
Bewildered and smouldered he would see my visage
Rippling In every chord of the tidal harp
Waves would drift him to his memories
Perhaps he too would burn with a longing of me
Ah what a pleasant lie to comfort my aching heart......!!!
CopyRights Reserved to Paras Ali/2017
He might be picking up the best of words for his verse
From her radiant eyes; his ever new darling.
A shooting star meanwhile ,will
i hope let loose its curls,
a spray of dusk-perfumed-clouds would descend down
And then first downpour of Monsoon
Would sing my saga to him
which he has long forgotten
and dismissed as another chapter of the past
.
Bewildered and smouldered he would see my visage
Rippling In every chord of the tidal harp
Waves would drift him to his memories
Perhaps he too would burn with a longing of me
Ah what a pleasant lie to comfort my aching heart......!!!
CopyRights Reserved to Paras Ali/2017
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