Yes, I was a poem
and so were you
Written on the same page
Of an old rusty book.
Both, started with the same word.
Both, written in the same style.
Both, packing the whole universe inside
Filled with magical fantasies.
You, with light of galaxies in your heart.
Me, with deepness of blackholes in my mind.
Words, written in star dust, composing us
Making us similar in so many ways
And yet our divergent interpretations,
Making us apart from each other.
You, a poem about union of lovers
Euphoric, buoyant, and glowing
Like glittering magical stars of night.
Me, a poem about act of separation.
Crestfallen, doleful, and gloomy
Like an abandoned house
In the middle of a desert.
We were poems written in same style with same words but different interpretations
