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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Sometimes, when 
your sparkling spirit 
waltzes with me 
to the perfumed 
periwinkle grooves 
of saffron breezes, 
I'm lost in a forever gaze, 
within those 
flickering ferns
of a nascent nightmare, 
where I ain't any 
velvet-purple orchid, 
which gets saved in 
every mellifluous 
moment by the 
sacrosanct touch of your 
sempiternal fingertips. 
I fear, what if I were a 
translucent roseate, 
while lilac lips 
not fully stained with 
crimson syllables 
of poetic affection, 
would you still 
drape my soul in 
succulent chartreuse 
sepals of your 
silken embrace? 

What if my skin 
were an artisan's 
flawed gold-fabric, 
would you trace 
kohl runes in my 
imperfect veins, 
or cherish the 
warmth of my cosy 
cherry- embroideries 
laced with floral
brocades of our 
dawning dreams? 

Will you still 
carve sunset's 
soft tapestries 
on my archaic 
terracota-pages, 
and hue a hyacinth-
harmony of harp, 
upon my moon-
dyed soul, 
if ever our love's 
scarlet star forgets
to twinkle in 
verbena verses 
carved along the
wisteria of midnight? 

I wonder if, 
our heartbeats 
will melt in 
sanguine autumn 
rays of afterlife, 
when our souls 
are locked in 
winter's frosty beams 
yet evanescent 
in glossy lakes 
of butterfly-serenades, 
sung by summery 
elixir of spring.

What if my heart 
had lost its 
sunburst soulful 
similes stretching 
across platinum psalms 
and engraved these 
marine metaphors 
as immortal wrinkles 
in the dying 
leaflets of iced 
cyan hours? 
What if I were a 
forsaken breath 
of poesy? 
Would you still 
sequin the
scarlet letters 
of stelliform - 'Hiya' 
with silky cream-
pearls of your
lazuline eyes, 
would you still love me, 
if I weren't a poet? 

So, when the 
gossamer glass 
of blue crescent 
has broken, 
please reminisce 
those unspoken 
ruby rhymes 
within amaranthine 
aroma  of poetry, 
sewn with solivagant 
threads of invisible 
illustrations along 
those sandalwood 
shorelines, where,  
I would've been 
caged by the
blackbirds of 
terrestrial time. 

Evermore, I will 
still cherish 
our serendipitous 
eden in sun's 
amber canopies, 
wishing you to be 
my venus-glazed
muse for eternity, 
even when the 
seraphic satan, 
looking so pure, 
has erased my 
silhouette from life,
within a shimmering 
death's kiss, 
alzheimer's reaper 
has thawed upon 
vintage verses 
and parched phrases 
have breathed 
in their last belief.

"Would love still breathe, when 'You and I' are lost in waves of woe, exhuming regretful lifelines?"
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