The lustrous, half opened lips
as you sleep, and the husky sound
of your breath, yet charming playfulness
of your fine lined eyes, with your
long, well crafted fingers, dancing
along as you dream of pain,
or of merry moments, where as
my hands lay on your voluptuous curves,
ow so beautiful, the moments,
buried deep, within my broken heart ...

I see dreams, in Your eyes,
My guitar plays the chords,
that resembles Your voice,
The blues sounds sweet
when You hum the notes.

Now you are far from Me,
as My heart bleeds poetry.

I will remember the time,
The time, when We kissed
for the first time, pushed back
against the wooden doors
of My room. The time when
I made Her cry,
and wiped the tears off Her face,
with My towel, and a sorry heart,
The time, when "just friends"
turned "I love You too", along
with a kiss and a tight grip,
The time, when She out of blue,
snatched My collars and kissed Me,
pausing My breath, smiling,
I was confused. Whether to
smile or stay stunned, or
when She called Me by pet names,
even within crowds, I smiled,
It was embarrassing, yet cute.
Ow, What a beautiful time.

Though, with one exception,
We both are flowing with
beautiful ambiance of the time,
but with a destiny towards
"Just a friend". A rare story of Mine,
Where, We chose to be happy,
yet, none with a victory sign ...

The gray skies,
with the silver clouds
rushed towards Me
with the roars they made
when they struck,
I felt as they were,
My friends, As they
reflected My deepest heart,
And the rains fell,
We both cried.

Times changed.
Something within Me changed.
Now the glamorous blue skies
seems to reflect Me.
It was happy like Me.
The birds strolled above,
with a playful delight,
when The Cuckoo sang,
a sweet melody, like,
The Nature seemed to
reflect My mood, My mind.

But still now, The Monsoons come.
When, The Sky cries all the time. When
I sat beside the windows, as my eyes,
were The Monsoon's best friend ever ...

Hardly, ever read a poetry.
Maybe a few, for school classes.
It was always like an array of lines,
only poets might understand.
But I grew up. I realized, that,
I was a fool. It had a man's
deepest sorrows, deepest desires.
An array of lines, too small
for a story, but almost a novel
for a reader to think.
I started to write.

Now I read, I write,
With an emptiness in my heart,
A desire to see one, the one,
I never found, A Poem,
Unique, as the dark stories of mine...

She kept them with Her,
In the deepest of her heart,
where they slept peacefully.
The poems, I wrote her,
The kisses I gave her,
The memories I made her,
The time, I spent with her,
within an envelope, which
in time, torn apart. But
never forgotten. cuz,
She kept them with Her,
In the deepest of Her heart.