(What she says)
A thirsty stolen glance
Beckoning a heated, hedonist urge,
A worshipping festival of gratitude
Flourishes in waiting shrines of yearning,
Coveted tunes of a forgotten spell
Spread their inviting arms.
A quivering moment between marrow & breathing,
An awakening bout of “the love toke”
Waltzing tendrils of a merry drunk spring,
Convolute around that profound awareness,
Oscillating within my heartbeats.
Narrow alleyways of life,
Veils of obscurity
Can’t restrain the pulsating pink tulips in my soul
Turning into fiery red rebels
_Waving flags of his anarchist scent
Blowing petals of his sinful lips_
Whenever his eyes claim my existence.
(What he says)
Clad in ancient customs
And my favourite colour
She’s my patience & provocation.
Arresting my strides
Liberating my eyes, sight by sight.
I wrote these words just to pay a tribute to this brilliant painting. And I know I fell short of what I wanted to say. What a perfect moment painted by the painter…etched on the marble of centuries yet might’ve passed in a blur. This is my version of what transpired between the two lovers when they catch a glimpse of each other.