Poetry

Poetry talks of every damn thing in this world.

It talks of the glories and victories unseen,

Of how you’ve been

For all this while,

Of the people and things you loathe,

Of visions that bind us both.

It does take into account,

Your joys and sorrows galore,

Of the things you wish to do offshore,

Then again,

The very angst you’ve bottled up for all these years,

And the philosophies you propound,

Of forgiving every bastard than being in tears.

How rare it is to fetch your that very tiny message,

Which talks of love and what caused its damage…

I know you would shun it,

Talking of things that interest me:

Some movies to be made, creative scrap

And romance torn,

But I will make sure

You write of love and

Happiness borne.

Write of love,

Not in proportions

Un-measurable,

But in terms

Comprehensible,

Of that place,

You always wanted to visit

And of which you never wanted to repeat,

Of one woman which made you smile,

And of the moment

Which caused you to

Walk that extra mile,

Write of yourself,

Of your childhood,

Stories untold,

Narrating me how

Dreams unfold,

And of me,

If you please,

So that we see

Our love never cease.