The glint in your eyes
They speak a thousand words
In unheard languages
I am yet to comprehend
Or atleast allow me my pretense

So what is it you will have
A joy de tour on springy boards
Hastily in out of bound outskirts
Battled passion beneath pristine white
For the cleaning stewardess to find

Or the dance in silence
Where I am waltzed against walls
By invisible hands in caress
Love tumbled and awash
Still held upright by your eyes

Will it be the war of words
When the tongues all they want
to explode in a tango the lavish
The lust felt wrapped as love
While we debate on rights and wrongs

So tell me how would it be
All laid out as business pleasantries
As we conclude profound debates
Not a word heard or registered
The only take away the glint
An undying lament in sheathed eyes.
- - - - -
Seema Jayaraman, Mumbai,17Nov2015

Upon a cold night in an ember month,
I watched from a higher ground two lovers quarreling—
His voice, a thunder. Her voice, another thunder in the night.

The night grew older in minutes and Gradually their voices quiet down.
They fought and they calmed, and they sat together
On a concrete bench under a tree whose silhouette was created by the streetlights some walks away.

Moments later I began to hear their laughter—
His voice a melody to her, her voice a melody to him after the flame.
There was nothing more beautiful to me that night.
I felt relieved and told my friend “this is how it should be.”

Oh my rose in bell jar!
From time to time I watch you from afar,
Keeping you in my peripheral vision
avoiding the precision
to acknowledge your decaying red;

But I notice
You've become more lively
in this unbearable gray time,
Tell me
is it your favourite crime
to mock my remaining solitude?
Isn't suggesting doubtful hope
to a dying person start of a cruel dispute?

Ah! I've known that cruelty you're trying so hard to resurrect,
You were the witness once
And You know he was the only one
That ever charming prince on a white horse
Seemed like a promising escape from my fancy confinement, eh?

With a swooning smile he bought my hospitality
And I fell in hope,
He claimed he had never seen such a beauty
Oh I wish I told him then
this beauty will last
till her awaited twenty first;
Forbidden to leave the cage
doomed with a witch's rage;

That could've spared me
from this additional catastrophe
of heartbreak;

Let me continue;

Soon shy smiles and secret glances
bloomed into hearty laughs and sensual dances
And I had never felt more beautiful in anyone's presence;

My gloomy fort now welcomed these festive winds
And I giddily waited for my blossoming spring ;

But somebody should've told me that nothing feels bitter
than the failed exchange of hearts ;

You see,
I gave him colours
but with that he painted another visage from his past,
Love rekindled in his heart and it was me left with burns and scars;

But instead of blood there were sparkles
that kept my vision lighted and filled my imaginary with scenes from dreamy novels;
And I got addicted these mocking hopes again;

So, my dear rose in bell jar!
Tell me are these imaginations bewitching you too?
Are you blushing or are you angry? You're being too red to give me a  clue;

I'm frozen,
And I can see your spirit fade away
The liveliest shimmers of all I've seen,
And I can't do anything;

My heart burning,
Trying to melt my surrounding ice
giving a last try
to catch your glimmers,

Then it gave up
Because it apprehended to be late,
So struggle breathed out;

Then I don't know how long I slept
Maybe hoping to see you in my dreams,

Where we'll go to that street
where we always wanted to be
My rosy flush and your musing gaze
As the wind swept past the starry horizon
with the sparks of pure amaze;

The sweet scent of that blossoming love
I still remember
I watched it go away with my heart surrendered;

Now,
I'm an icy embody;

Witnessing only the passing times,
without hope;

Who could've thought that not getting over means
there's no hope?

Not that I see miles away;
Even if I try to
These icy flakes blocking my way,
I'm too cold to be resurrected now;

I never write love poems.
I think it's because I'm afraid to

open up & feel so vulnerable.
I'd have to look inside my heart,
to write something beautiful,
intimate,
and heartfelt.
I'd have to embrace the warmth,
and reflect on the lingering traces,
of the hand once in mine.
The love that once had it's time.

I'm afraid to confront those feelings.
I'm afraid to commit to love,
even if it's the everlasting type,
where two stars collide,
in the afterlife,
like they did milleniums before.

I've been hurt so deeply.
In ways I haven't felt before.
I'm not sure I can take it anymore.

But I dream of not being afraid of love.
One day,
I'll write love poems.
I'll find the person worth writing lines,
and stanzas about.
One that makes me forget we're in a drought.

You make me so happy with
mere the knowledge of your existence,
Yet it turns back to utter despair,
Cause I despise the fact

That you are there
Like an art, so charismatically abstract,
but not mine yet;