Her eyes spoke of solitude, of
how she was left in the dark,
cold and haunted, shivering
on strong winds,
Even her towel refused
to wipe her tears.

Again her lips spoke maturity,
how she moved on,
stood up on the same streets
she was left alone, and
smiled with the same lips,
she once moaned with.

But, She, herself spoke love.
A creature so beautiful,
that, The Moon blushes
under her aura, and
The Stars wants to be
the jewelry to her skin,
Where as, all he wanted,
was to be the towel, that
would always wipe,
her tears, for other's sin ...

The heart shattering pain,
She prevailed, the spear of words,
that scarred her heart, reflected
through her eyes and the
melt down eyeliner, Yet
Her eyes wore The Ocean,
and the warmth of blue
burnt her eyes brown, But
still  she never showed the water,
or the autumnly tint of her eyes.

Again her arms opened for him
for a while, and her close grip
showed him a glance of her
deep ocean and the ashes
of her smoldered soul. He gazed.
His tears wet the shoreline,
of her ocean, and kissed her soul
under the bald trees of her
autumnly brown eyes ...

Along with the lonely stroll
In the ocean of broken hearts,
And deep, lovingly desires,
You stumbled upon mine.

Yet in the tiniest span of time,
You embraced it tight, and
kissed to see if it smiled.
It took time, but did smile.

Dark, was the way to love,
and as scary was the nights,
Yet, they held hands, And
soon, stepped into the light.

Her curved smile patched
his scarred heart, while
his pen bled ink, and
the scars spelled poetry ...

A sleepless night, and
his red bloated eyes,
her eyeliner's ink
all over her cheeks,
bursted into a flood
of love within their
starving hearts, and
the eyes were then
speaking love, as the
lips were locked, with his
hands over her shoulders.
teeth crushing her
tender skin, and
the tongue tasted her's,
and his ear's listened
to her soft moans.
Not even her jeans
stopped him from a touch,
or her curves from showing
their grace. Or her sweat
from spreading her aroma.

But still he feared,
the fear, of despair ...

She said she loved.
His friend shook hands.
She said, It was nothing.
She had reasons though.
His heart cried, Yet,
His face showed maturity.

He wrote love poems every morning,
And wet the pillows at night.
He was in love.

Now he, reads depression control,
Drinks whisky, and smiles.

Society calls him matured.

The skies were red, by the
smoke the fireworks exhaled,
enlightened by their glowing beauty
and the hollow silence, filled
by their ambient sounds, on
the night of The Diwali.

Lovers smiled, with hearts,
pounding with delight, holding
the fiery stick, hand above hand,
where as my appetite were
filled with spirits,
and breath full of cigars with
blurry darkness in my eyes.

Time changed, not much though.
You and me, may not celebrate,
But, We are together, This letter,
To let you know, that, Now,
Your curved smile lights my heart,
and your voice fills my silent soul,
erasing the debris,
from my old, burnt soul...