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Arif Hifzioglu May 2019
Boy:      You love me back...
              you do, don’t you?
Girl:      I can’t be so bold,
              neither can I sling a single ‘not’,
              nor hurl to you a hurting bolt.

Boy:      Won’t we meet again by the grace of Luck?
              Won’t these ticks of Luck tock us a tittle knock?
Girl:      My time for you won’t tick that tock,
              nor shall yours be the tickles you sought.

Boy:      Don't let tiny ticks clip love with cutting clicks.
              Every scented rose sure has its piercing ******
              though love's tricks shall, too, mull soul's briny creeks
              for a rainbow glow on your rain swept cheeks.

Girl:      Don't you see we're buffed in baffling bricks
              and Time has caged us in her muffling ribs?

Boy:      But, I guess you know of poems of want,
              lines love-wrought which Defiance sought?
Girl:      That, too, I can tell you not
              whether I can read a single word love wrote.

Boy:      Love’s capriciously wrought in this plot.
              You can’t be of the same selfish sort!
Girl:     .....

Boy:     No, a shimmering story bestowed
             from the gone old days of gold...
Girl:     : ))

Boy:     Why! Shouldn’t smiles bend Time’s knee
             and in glee thus be free?
             Could love only ever be a wee old fantasy?
Girl:   .....

Boy:     We can speak of it not.
             All the same, can deny it not.

             Longingly locked in Luck’s ill-fitting frock!
Girl:   .....

Boy:     My heart is bold; can’t tame it, I fought.
             And, without it, would I be the man I sought?
Girl:   .....

Boy:     With or without you I’m not.
             Blind a barbed knot!
             How I wish I cared not a single jot.
Girl:     That’s a terrible knot.
             You must curl to it not.

Boy:     Yes, no;
             if you here shall ever be not,
             and Time’s silver I sought
             in your hair be forgot,
             I’ll upon thee more love allot.
Girl:     ?!

Boy:     The stars in thine eyes I’ll never be.
             Nor the silver in your hair shall I stay ‘n see.
             But,
             there’s this in me Time is green with envy:
             this deity on the knee who loves loving thee.
             This heart for thee shall heed no decree;
             that which makes this sorry boy you see
             the very divine friend that he will ever be.
Girl:      : ))))))
Fate and the human heart are enemies; their battles we fight.
  May 2019 Arif Hifzioglu
Valsa George
Stealing away from the noise and glare
I paced the aisles of an ancient library
Being worn and tired, indisposed to read
I sat in a corner, lost in half reverie

Around me were books stacked end on end
In safely locked glass and wooden shelves
And sectioned into different genres
Fiction, non- fiction, verse et al, in thinly layered leaves

I felt lost in this vast continent of erudite friends
Poet, scholar, philosopher and sage, each sat quiet
But those silent souls seemed to crave for human touch
Waiting to serve anytime learning’s lovesome diet

Closely sheltered from the tumult of the world
The place, though serene had an eerie air
And books like so many beauties in a harem
Were kept away in seclusion just to admire

The lifeless air and the long deserted look
Mildly disturbed my inner calm
Couldn’t digest man’s total disregard of books
Which for long, to many a lonely soul, served as balm

Sitting amid those gallant souls
I thought over the relentless efforts of sage like men
Who in the stillness of the night, in their cloistured cells
Plunged into research and meditative reflection

What knowledge is garnered in these tomes!
What all charms, encased in these pages!
To what magic lands they can carry us
Sharing with us the accumulated wisdom of ages

With the profusion of electronic gadgets
And information, readily available by a finger hit
Books no more are given a venerable treat
And fated to be stashed away in corners unlit

Heavy with the time tested wisdom of the wise
They sit huddled together in damp corners
Longing to get a little human warmth
But sadly neglected like rusted burners

After an hour’s enervating reprieve
While I was leaving that dumb world
In my ears, fell a faint sound
Of the agonizing cry of the Printed Word!
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