You have come to me. Again.
But my time and I are to leave soon,
without a bargain.

Where the butterflies hide under the flowers and
the twinkling stars show them–
shy and pale, yet beautiful grow then.
You look fragile in the aisle of love,
much more than my memories could deceive me:
When we walked naked in the dreary dale,
we promised our heart would never be on sale.
My hands were on yours;
and your heavy head lolling in my shoulder.
Your eyes looked at me.
And then my heart stared at you;
they secretly, silently, and sultrily
plan to be older.

You have come to me. Again.
But my time and I are to go soon,
without a bargain.

You touched my hands
as you would have caressed the other flowers.
But you failed to touch my heart,
for which I waited in those lonely hours.
I have never given you a hint
about how much I hated the other flowers;
of which I whispered to you in those lonely showers,
for which you blamed me for making a tower.
You have become a beast and grown
more reckless now,
always talking about philosophy and art;
you should always be on the acme, anyhow.
It is impossible for me to comprehend those stuff,
the easiest task tonight– I have decided to take a puff
and enchant they were all bluff.

You have come to me. Again.
But my time and I are to leave soon,
without a bargain.

You look more pale and ugly now,
much more than my dirty mind could think of
you, somehow, hid the inner part of yours
much more than my dirty mind could think of.
Those beautiful smiles have gone dim now,
always procrastinating to smile tomorrow,
your lips half-filled with regret move towards mine
much more than my dirty mind could think of.
I love locking my lower lips from your lauded lust
much more than your dirtiest mind could think of.

You have come to me, my dear. Again.
But my time and I are leaving,
without a bargain.
-Rozesh Gautam

Advertisements