Those little eyes asked me,  
Did you view your heart today?  
That opened the few memories that were formed unknowingly when  
The comfort zone told you that tomorrow, when she doesn't touch, you should still keep on trying.

So dear heart,  
Did you hear the tree inside, that was thinking about  
This special box of memories?

The sunshine above my head said, yes, yes, let’s open it and see.

An old note that beamed read like it was some hope.  
It looked deeply and said,

"If you hide, you may want to cry about it later.  
This panel of emotions didn't observe this nature earlier when you were saving every moment while remembering it.

This panel of observance didn't realize earlier that you would want to cry out as you read it. There is special sun-soak that holds my moon, and the eyes of the person I want to search for have an inner knowing smile and a benevolent look that can pierce through your sorrow and help you grow.

That look is the starter of my million thank yous."  
©shivpoetesspriya

These shapeless tears shape the ruling dialects of my heart, and their shanties croon in the corner because they don’t want to lose their heart again!

Your upright expressions that my heart yearns for
ignite the fervor of enfolding earnestness within me.

It says that the enviable entirety of my heart shatters
if it cannot feel your vision.

Where are you, leaving me alone in this impasto of feelings?

Where have you gone without allowing me to intersect the interludes of your eyes?

Where are the gems of the heart that enable its handles to work?

Where are you when the intention wants to merge because it is tired?
©shivpoetesspriya

A yearning poem walks along with me.  
It moves swiftly in all the directions where it feels the inspiration for its development stages.

My yearning poem walks  
with me every day  
to settle my worries away,  
to touch my heart,  
to kindle my spirit.

This time, my yearning poem took you along with it.  
It searched for you in many hopes, through all the trials and methods, and figured out the golden and strenuous period of patience.

My yearning poem walks with me.  
This time, it observes your silence  
along with your smile and figures out the miss in me.

So in this way, a yearning poem walks with me to understand a deeper me and a navigating me.

The tune that I miss when I consciously look out for it never comes to my heart's knowledge.  
But when I close my eyes and find the tune inside, I let my heart know its rhythm.  
It improvises on its own and looks around to know about its heartbeat.  
It gazes into your beautiful eyes and finds the answer.

A yearning poem still walks with me even now.  
©shivpoetesspriya

Do you want to compete with me?
Why do you want to compete with me?

I have a low voice and a struggling heart while asking these questions for you.

Do you want to compete with me because you have a better garden?

I can smell the lilies of your garden and the fresh breeze that touches the trees, it comes to me as well.

Why do you want to compete with me?
Is it because I stand with my barren land that’s dry and looks like a ruined brown field?

I have nothing around the corner that looks as soothing as your beautiful lavender flowers. I do have a cactus plant that reaches down into the roots to find the motivation and inspiration to produce water in the dryness. I am so busy with my own areas.

Do I want to compete with you?

I hope you find the answer signaled from anywhere you seek.

But do I wish you success?
Yes, that’s true.

Do I know that you care?
You are too much of an old soul to think that I have anything harsh behind my asking that, so please don’t.

Do I need to compete or do you have time to compete with me now?
I don’t think so.

Maybe it’s not required, more like--no regrets.
©shivpoetesspriya

This has always been like this.
We open up
Because we have yet to decide our sanity process.
In that process, we decide whether we bleed or do not bleed.
We open
For the sake of our sanity.
We may or may not bleed, that's dependent on how we cry our hearts out.
But I don't understand this bittergourd-like wisdom about why we have to bleed if we bleed.
Why?

If you are angry today,
I understand.
I may bleed someday because
you may have the love in you to open up.

But why do we have to bleed?

I don't understand the bittergourd-like wisdom.

We open up.
That's for sure.
But.
©shivpoetesspriya

An evening wonder was filled with my questions:  
Was I a fan of our school subjects?  
I recalled sitting at the corner of old times,  
Having no base with all the naivety that hadn't explored enough to be beyond naivety.  

I tried raising a question to myself with the benefit of the doubt:  
What if I were a fan of any of my school subjects?  
Maybe I was, or maybe I wasn't.  
But in that maybe,  
Maybe I made efforts to try to understand the lurking theme of connection while I changed the chapters one by one.  

But this reopening of castles of old beginnings,  
Here and there, asks me today,  
Did we ghost each other?  

Did you ghost me?  
Did I ghost you?  

So this old time memorizing,  
Even though I figured out how kind and loving you are,  
Alas, the big thing is that there is no friendship between us.  

All the razors of words and tongues that didn’t and couldn’t express the words we should have spoken made the adjoining softness vanish as no feelings ruled.  

So this reopening study  
Makes my low chin observe with stroking fingers.  
Even if we are fans of the subjects, like we are physics and chemistry,  
But there is no friendship between us!  

This hits differently, but it is a truth of the unspoken textbook of this context.  

This.  
Turning the pages sometimes tells us.

A scoring album,  
A sketch art album,  
An album that shows the state of mind,  
Keeps varying,  
Showcasing different mindsets,  
Changing emotions  
That stroke with the hues of colorful exchanges,  
Without letting them get trapped in the myriads of journeys.  
These varying emotions and thoughts,  
Echoing from the heart's knots,  
Keep showing the frequency of intangible artistic scores.  
©shivpoetesspriya