Friday, 30 March 2012


She arrives like a torrent on the page,
She derives like a popping spring fest in the garden,
Twittering around on love and its motion,
It awakes me; the blue sky is her profile picture,
The more she sings, the more I press 'like' buttons,
The friends’ zone becomes 'likes', 'comments', 'sharing',

Of the silent movement of the page,
The new age fills my heart with loving sequences,
Those are terms we are accustomed to use
For the expression on our mirrored objects,
Upon the threshold we are like a sphere
Living on wings of messages, a deserved art.

Time passes on over the page, I am not in touch
To read the message for which I want to have it sure,
As time and water are creators of new cycles of eyes' matching,
And there is a gap in two pair of eyes, I feel, and waiting is waste,
Preludes are too much after the gap, yet no confirmation,
And I have to wait perhaps for another term of expression, here.

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