The hungry lips starved for a kiss,
The ***** sour smell inhaled,
The silent mourns heard,
The fingers teased the pelvis,
Sweats scrolled down from
the behind of her ears, and
The moist tongue tickled
the collar bones, The warmth
of her nearness, the touch
of her lovely long fingers,
the husky voice of her heart,
Whispered ' Make Love to me'.
More close I got, The far
her soul tried to escape, as
the innocent little she, had
sufficient enough to fear,
Eager souls waited to merge,

The stars were not beautiful,
Just pale presence of light.
Only a blind knows the
colour of black. She, the
blind lady, bright of love,
Yet, afraid, of the souls
to merge within the
darkness that prevailed.
A story far back from now.
Only there was time,
That might have healed.
Yet in the end, The souls,
have submitted gladly...

Didn't,
Didn't We?
Wake at the dawn?
With a station to start?
Were we not like the trains?
That headed their own ways?
Didn't we speak like them?
through whistles and hastes?
Didn't we share the stories?
Through some open windows?
Didn't we know us just by the
time of a trip side by sides?
Didn't we know our names? cuz
we met everyday on some station?
Wasn't our destinations different?
but Just a pass by on two tracks?
Did we ever crash? No I guess, cuz
we were never on the same tracks.
Did we ever wait? For a coffee?
No, Cuz we all headed for different.
Didn't we see us everyday pass by?
From the start to the end of the day?
Who knew? This day would come?
Same place to go, same track to share,
Same destination to reach,
Same station to leave from,
Same stories to share,
Closed windows opened,
Same air to breath,
Two heart beat,
One heart heard,
Did Love?
Yes...

Untold stories, unheard,
Told stories not understood,
Love felt less, laws overrated,
Skies seen, touched ground more,
Made less roads, followed more,
Thought less, views outstanded.

In The lonely aimless road of mine,
A stranger, showed me another way,
Lovely as The Moon herself,
Eyes distant as the road itself,
Hair as the dancing corn fields,
Took my hands and strolled yet,
I was never a good walker I guess.
My unspoken words, or the
Un cried tears, She never heard.

Fingers distancing themselves,
A hand, starting to let go,
The Moon thats setting,
The corn fields losing colour,
The road cracking, huh!
A tear to fall and vaporize.
Head to be pulled straight,
to be Looked back never again,

Though at the end of my roads,
I will rest on a ***** muds,
Hoping the same stranger to
Kiss me a rebirth, The painter
of the cornfields, the craftsman
who would make more roads
for both of us to walk once more...

Sat on a log of a broken tree
gazing the calm flow of the river
with the peeking Sun light
on the flowing rusty leaves
recalling the times spent,
fights fought, kisses she kissed,
with her half opened dreamy eyes.

I was not dead, Yet never alive.
Atleast not on the present.
My thoughts, that none cared.
Meaningless words to all, Yet
she was the all for me.

Now I sit, staring on the stream,
in solitude with my lost self,
with a vision of someone,
rubbing my fingerprints off of her.

The letters, The roses,
became the grey ashes
from her fireplace.
The chimney smoked
the burnt petals,
Her tears danced on the
clamor of cracking woods
and the memories flew
with the debris.

Yet nothing was changed.
All that burnt that day,
Was her innocent heart.