To pin you down into paper
That you'd never be able to leave me
But you faught your way out my word play,
r'd pull your fingers into a hold to calm you down
So you could stare at our hands
In the dim, as if we're forbidden to touch
And I'd get a change to see how you blushed,
Before l'd return home with that art in mind
And warmth in soul
Trying to give birth to my version of you into a poem:
But failing miserably each time.
You werelike a broken bowl of sand and beads
Spilled on the mattress of my mind
It felt as if you spread and caught
Every inch of my thoughts,
That patience alone couldn't do away.
ButI wasnt planning on picking up the beads,
Rather 'd sit on the messier part of the mattress
And write poems about how beautiful the mess was
Even though I couldn't explain how it looked,
r'd call it beautiful for it is.
Even thoughI couldnt tame you down into a poem
You are in yourself an art.
~ Pushpanjali.
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