Let a sky of clouds
Drenched in mustard shafts of light caress
The stars feasting the crispness of the night
Let the sheer twilight be my fortress
Let solitude be my guide
It is the monsoon wind, perhaps, that sends me your breath
Which subsequently sneaks me off
From the pavement of certainty
Only to catch a whiff of your skin
Or even a glint of your magnificence(worthy of sonnets)
Whose beauty transcends my reality
It is the midnight chirp of the beetles elsewhere
That soothes me to sleep
Each note is a syllable of sound free falling
Whose music seeks no violin,
Whose tune hums nothing but the rich surrealism
Of your psalm-sculpted anatomy:
May it be your sigh exhaled against your fingertips
And of your eyes sensual as the sidewalks of your lips
May it be your breast nestling on your chest
And of your walk coupled with the off-rhymed stillness of your talk/
Let it be the goosebumps burst with moonshines teeming with hyacinths
As I hang transfixed from the extinction of your
scent.
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