Graffiti upon the walls,
inspirational messages
to boost up passers-by
on the side walk,
their backs bent just a little,

hunched with burdens,
and sweat which drips
down the brows, disgustingly
and dangerously close
to dribbling down the chins...

not one amongst those pay
a second glance to the other,
each caught up in their own
cycle of life, their legs fatigued,
to the point of collapsing,

and there...near the end
of the pavement, a man holds
his guitar steady, singing
at the top of his lungs, an equally
inspirationally gross song

to lift up the spirits
of weary individuals.

Assuming conclusions,
overruling consumptions,

dynamite love transformed
the dynamics of relationships,
nullifying every chance we had
of reaching a safe harbor...

in the middle of arguments,
words were washed ashore,
and we found ourselves
gazing at each other

from the opposite ends
of our defined spectrums.

Somewhere between your
timid neverminds and
my haughty nothings,

love found its way,
peeking shyly with just
a touch of awkwardness

that bursts forth at
times but not before
rendering us dumb,

if just for a moment ...

There was once a girl called Anarose,
who took selfies in a thousand pose.
Perfect pouts on the face,
turned into a rat race,
but ended up with a wrinkly nose...!