You hold my urchin hands, uncurling
all my doubts, scribbling away my worries
in no particular order.
You’re still so randomly careless that I forget the
chronology of my first thought,
It just makes me smile.
Makes me cry.
And I don’t know the reason why.
Words twist around us in stretches abandoned
by a white noise on the shore.
We’d strewn alphabets hoping they’d be heard one day.
And someone would find them, someday,by surprise.
We speak about places, dates and memoirs now
very much, like our own Renaissance
Ignoring the silence that homes us, exchanging
notes in futility on nothingness,
musing about the significance of things
hopelessly struck out from the list.
Times will change like little baby blues
but the paper remains crumpled in a corner.
We’ll both grow older,
Yet the differences would be static.
It is uncanny how after a decade of painful pantomimes
and a universe of flowery grace
Love will still be.. just a four letter word...
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