Monday, October 15, 2012

The Sign.

On board the bus, eyes romanced the green
My thoughts conflicted with innocence;
Tonight I forced myself to recall.
What was there to see? To hear? To know?

The wall was white, whiten by translucent light.
The floor contrasted my long, dark hair.
The room flocked by crowd; mostly male.
The bearded traveller ushered me; this is you.

And I look at your hand, extended open palm, true.

Touched its softness; I stared at your dark lashes.
Your hair was then dark, darkened more by white shirt.
I nod, shyly smiled, that face, I listened last or first.

Beyond the rows of males I sat and write.
All of them were talking; I searched which bright.
You talked, passionate, fast, and I... silent.

Discussion was done, flipped the pen.
Rose and rushed out of door, serene.

The traveller asked, “where to? wait no more?”
Yup, thanks, I said. At the city, I wandered.
I bade the traveler adieu, unyielding, as fast as that,
Without a glimpse of you; that listening was the last.

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