Soul and blood,
He thought love was.
Compromise, and maturity,
She thought love was.
They, sometimes bled.
Emotions wept,
Practicality laughed.

Eyes, barren as the deserts,
reflecting the melancholy voice
of The Oud, wet as the oasis,
not lies though, yet not wet,
Lips red as blood, spoke of the
bleeding broken heart. Yet once,
A river flown, washing the blood
off her heart, and smothering the
sand storms. still time had a story.
It was just an oasis to her burnt,
dead dreams. The river was on
a valley, watering the red rose,
She once lovingly gave him ...

Streamed down through the memory lane,
with the pages being turned, and the
pictures visioned, that burned the heart,
whose debris, the tears wiped, and the
thoughts being subdued with the
burning end of the last cigarette ...

Never she walked down the lane
to her house across the street, or
smelt the roses on the pavement
that bloomed for love to happen,
or never did she tear a petal for
a guess of an answer, that was
never questioned. She cried,
for regrets, or a feeling of love,
that might never she have felt.

Its the time, that thought of Autumn,
the rusty leaves all over the pavement,
sometimes the rains, that wet them,
And the green park, that turned husky,
Hearts raced, eyes gazed, the pattering
sound of the rain that fell on the leaves,
that muffled the sound of our raging
and crying souls, The eye lids met
shutting the view. Only our exhales
was what we heard. Lips met.
All the pain, forsaken, for a minute.

She never took a ride back home again.
Even our shadows didn't stay apart.
A never ending journey, resumes.
Our palms doesn't ungrip anymore.
Our hearts pounds sync righteously.
Nothing makes me happier than her.

Might not be the same in near time.
Might we sleep in cold without us,
wiping each other's tears, and kissing
its okay. Might not I walk the same road
and ride the train, from the same station,
ever again, Might not she ever perfume
my bed with her aroma. Might not, we
share the long stares and kiss with a smile,
Might all the memories morph to poetry
with my cold heart and bleeding ink,
that will disappear with my demise.
Yet, a memory to be felt living again, that,
She never took a ride back home again.

Last kiss, she said.
One time only, she said.
Just a friend, she said.
Means nothing, she said.
Its the liquor, she said.
Its alright, I said.

A few days past by.

She lay'd on my arms,
with her husky eyes,
staring at mine, with
our hearts close as our lips,
and my arms, dragging her
closer. I whispered.
I love you too. She said.

A few days will pass by.

One last kiss, she'll say.
No more, she'll say.
Near hearts shall whisper
farewell, stay well.
Shall blame the world,
and wish for the near
next life to meet again,
And never, a good bye
to be heard ever again ...

Started with the void, that
wanted to fill, A tug of war,
between our distant souls,
yet close hearts, mourning eyes,
that my towel still remembers,
The hugs, that my shirts remember
for the shades of your's,
as vivid as your eyes. I gazed,
At the skies, and asked,
is this it? A question, she answered,
Yes, It is. Promises kept to us,
stories, that we made, good times
we spent, memories we made,
A tough story, we lived,
encased within my diary,
locked with emotions,
stacked in a closet, for a
new train to be ridden,
and the diary, meant to
never be opened again...

I woke up, I realized,
You were just a dream.
No more tears, could
Make it real. You
were the voice, that
made me cry, Your
lap was the pillows,
that cured my void,
But it was just a dream,
for a little night. But

I was the nightmare,
You ever saw. I am
really not just worthy.
I might have misunderstood,
the reality of life, the
ways of reality. Even
your the lightest actions,
felt mistakes to me,
But it was just things,
That just happened,
Should have happened.
Why couldn't I let go,
I don't know, I was just,
Not worthy, I never
understood. A fool I am.

Might I wet the pillows,
Alone for life, None might
ever hold my hands.
I don't care. I just
want my gravestone to say,
I loved you ...