It’s not about yesterday ,
I am not even breaking the tomorrow’s bread ,
It’s about this very moment ,

Every new sunrise destroys the moon ,
Every new sunset creates another one ,
The stars never complain about this foreplay ,

They are selfish , maybe ,
Just like you and me ,
And the sky is the cryptic god of this lucid script .

When they make love ,
They are indisputable , Irresistible , Irreversible  ,
No one can intervene the realm of the loudest silence .

They moan just like you and I ,
But who is giving an ear ?
Can they ? Can you ? Can I ?  

It’s never enough ,
Neither content .

They sleep on each other’s chest ,
Just like you sleep in  tranquility on my cynical palm .

How humane is to complain about love ?
Some are afraid to embrace ,
They will complain about others .

Someone should interpret the silence ,
Then you too may say “ well said ” .