You.
You love me with your lips stitched shut.
You love the way I listen to you
whenever you teach me silence,
when you put your sweet sighs
across my mouth
and cradle my body into a dark corner
where I can breathe you in from afar.
That love which speaks through the eyes
tilted towards an inch away from mine.
While the rest of the world
can easily put those words into words,
you stay calm and modest
amidst your unspoken flames of emotions,
those which smoke away from  a smile
or from a glance which carouses
in that place within me
where  the other lovers can never visit.

You who don’t speak but listen.

I.
I love you with my ears only for the unheard.
I love that kind of love you rarely confess
through the smallest actions
done by your greatest strength
and even those cruel ones
within your depths I may never know
and you may never let me.
But if in case, you would let me and I would,
let me bury it down as a tiny seed
which will rise from the dirt
as a lovely white rose.
For even if you don’t speak,
I will always hear you
through the hushes of the cold wind
that blows and warms the fringes of my hair.
I will listen to you the way the other lovers
will never do.

I who don’t speak but listen.

But if this love must vanish in total darkness
and be drowned in all the noisy revolts
which sins had casted
or the world had turned the tables
and all our memories had to lie,
remember
that as long as there is you and I,
you will be the Earth beneath my feet
who holds all dear in my life
and I will be living and feeding in you
as our silence
grows and grows
into forever.

We who never speak but listen.