Irk

 

You write,
The lovely dreams,
On my spread heart,
You write beautifully,
The secret stories,
I feel it while you write,
I open my eyes to see,
But, you rub it away,
Even before I read!
I search insanely,
For the lost letters,
Frustrated and irksome,
Grow sharp claws of pain,
To tear and pierce,
Blood all over the place,
Split open my precipitated mind,
I gaze into it,
Find blank pages,
Fluttering calmly,
In silence and death!

You weave,
The garment of love,
Your body with mine,
Closely and genially,
I feel the warmth,
I wish to cover myself,
With that eternal robe,
But, you untie the threads,
Tear it anxiously,
Even before I wear,
Leaving me naked,
Cold,
Desperate,
I find the pieces torn,
Of rejected clothes,
Lying scattered on the floor!
My heart fails to beat,
My mind lost in nothingness,
Numb and in love,
I remember you…