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If you were mine
If you were mine,
I would hold you in morning’s quiet,
where grass leans close to listen,
and let each flower bloom
from the warmth of your breath.
When you cross my door one quiet night,
I would borrow the river’s silver glow,
braid it softly into your hair,
so even the moon would lean closer
to see where its light has gone.
Stepping into the morning air,
I would scatter reflections in rain-washed streets,
in leaves that shiver with the wind,
so every passerby might glimpse
how morning finds its color
trailing your silent steps.
Near to me,
when your breath stirs the silence,
I would rise like flame from ash,
until the world learns
forever is not a vow—
but the quiet fire we hold between our hands.
Copyright ©
Saeed Koushan
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