The nervousness within her cheeks,
From the warmth of his hands,
Ignite the light within her eyes,
And yet recount unutterable feeling,
Hidden deep within her heart.

The slit between the roof and the abandoned house gets me—the moon drowns in his own mystical clouds, wavering and so full of light.

I squint my eyes as the moon hides his presence from me. Almost knowing I had captured it with my own eyes and the grey clouds scattered like waves, consuming my breath and taking it away.

He knows it still haunts me from time to time and he gave his best to give me an embrace—even when my very own existence is running cold and dry and my breath thickens with the mist of unwavering thoughts coming from the night and the stars twinkle at the sight of people looking at them—like a mirrorball entertaining strangers from the club and they shine in their spot. Even when I close my eyes, the moon peaks in its stillness. All the poets used him as their muse, radiating this mellow one could think of when the sun sleeps in her slumber. The poets had perfectly described him in thousands of words and painted him over the mural where I can see him directly and the strangeness of him calms the raging waters in me.

Even when peace is quite chaotic and chaos is peaceful, a trap between the slit on the roof and the abandoned house, squinting my eyes as the moon hides his presence from me. And she haunts me as the sun begins to show herself in ways I am blinded by her light.

In some ways, she shines even when it is night.
In a way, she looks over the moon when he wakes up from his slumber.
In a way, the stars and clouds enveloped her with the warmness of their breath.
In some ways, I couldn’t look at her for too long.
In some ways, I am silenced by her beauty.

With the hustling of leaves falling onto the ground and my hands used to the cold weather of Maple Street, the same sky where little strange souls like us meet—under the waves of clouds thickening our sight and our smiles splattered all over the place—remains.

I stirred my coffee, and you drank your now-cold chocolate drink. Your eyes carry the burdens of the stars and gravitate towards mine—I have been awake and alleviating the presence of old souls surrounding us, and I broke down. You embraced me like the classic song you are.

A lighthouse guarding travelers attempting to overcome the sea, I caught your hand and pressed it closer to my chest. Doors opened, unfolding a new chapter for us to climb higher than usual, and you looked at me like I used to look at you in pictures I keep for myself—lulling this young, brave soul to sleep in dull hours where you softly snore in a damp bed while the moon speaks in a softer tone to let you close your weary eyes and darkness begins to unfold within.

Sometimes it makes it harder to breathe the very same air you inhale—and these two young hearts live in another world, closer to home, and you held me, finally, the anchor I once dreamed of, and now your presence I could see—your skin I could be comfortable with.

I loved staring at still stars and the twinkle of their lights
So, she told me, She was a celestial being shining at night
I tried to watch her but she hid behind the rolling clouds
And then she complained, "Can't you see my shine if I'm in a shroud?"
I felt ashamed the moment and promised I'd try
Again she passed by me but I didn't recognize
A meteor shower came that stunned my eyes...

She still asks, "Can't you find where am I?"
And I cowardly reply, your shine is too bright
That I'm even afraid to look at the Sky..!

Whenever I try to write about her
I feel like I don't have enough space on my paper
How can I define her? 
When I myself originated from her definition
How can I restrict her within a few lines? 
When my entire words are enslaved before her
How can I portray her life in a poem? 
When my own life is indebted to her...

And even if she herself asks to write her down
Then also, a tale for her won't be enough
Even if to summarise her down
I'd need to write a novel or two
And if she asks to be drawn down
Then nothing would be tougher than this
'Cause a canvas won't be able to hold her entire explosion of colours
And to counter that, I'd only be left with a single option... 
To build an art castle in a space not less than the sun!