My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

///

Either if that land comes to me
or if I go to near the moon
rather, if I count the distance between the heaven and the hell
whatever you see or say
but I see and say there is a space

How long or thick I don’t know, but there is a space
where there is a vehicle or wind even empty
and the spaces, we run through air, land or the sea
if there exists any light or dark,
even I go through the time on the light speed
there I have seen a long space

Even between you and me
a little or big space
the shadow,
when I close to you
it has grown compact and even sometimes turned to dark
I can't see you
rather I see there is a space between you and me

And the star to star
sun to other stars
earth and the moon
and the moon and me
where there is a you there is at least a little space
even it dark or light
neither true nor false
either life or death
there is a space between you and me
your road to my road
your home to my home
at least a river, ocean or a wall that has created a space
your heart to my heart
your soul to my soul
there is a little space either light or dark
my love, that grew the difference between you and me
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Rehashing the rare
Out with the new,
In with the old.
She's always had a thing
For the things that exude
A quirkiness and a bucolic charm
The smell of old books
The black and the white
Good ol' Chaplin, James Dean
And the Sound of Music
The Beatles, a tape recorder
High-waisted pants
And the gramophone
And a rustic old bar
With a gruff bartender
Who's off his rocker
But he'll double up as your therapist
And for the boy with the dark brown eyes
Who looks across the bar at her.
And smiles.
It's all black and white again
Except this time,
It isn't her favourite Casablanca scene
But a white screen
And a thousand particles
Microcosmic
A milieu of
Unfathomable numbers float
Through the atmosphere
Connecting her to him.
And she doesn't want that.
She's always had a thing for the old,
But he makes her doubt that.