Never she walked down the lane
to her house across the street, or
smelt the roses on the pavement
that bloomed for love to happen,
or never did she tear a petal for
a guess of an answer, that was
never questioned. She cried,
for regrets, or a feeling of love,
that might never she have felt.
Its the time, that thought of Autumn,
the rusty leaves all over the pavement,
sometimes the rains, that wet them,
And the green park, that turned husky,
Hearts raced, eyes gazed, the pattering
sound of the rain that fell on the leaves,
that muffled the sound of our raging
and crying souls, The eye lids met
shutting the view. Only our exhales
was what we heard. Lips met.
All the pain, forsaken, for a minute.
She never took a ride back home again.
Even our shadows didn't stay apart.
A never ending journey, resumes.
Our palms doesn't ungrip anymore.
Our hearts pounds sync righteously.
Nothing makes me happier than her.
Might not be the same in near time.
Might we sleep in cold without us,
wiping each other's tears, and kissing
its okay. Might not I walk the same road
and ride the train, from the same station,
ever again, Might not she ever perfume
my bed with her aroma. Might not, we
share the long stares and kiss with a smile,
Might all the memories morph to poetry
with my cold heart and bleeding ink,
that will disappear with my demise.
Yet, a memory to be felt living again, that,
She never took a ride back home again.
The poem is pretty self explanatory
