Friday, 26 May 2017


If I know I have found you,
Why can I not find the words
To tell you I am going to keep you
Why can I not write poems about you
To tell you about the warm heaviness
That swells my heart, only thinking about you
Every time I try,
Look for metaphors for your perfect bright eyes
Words stop at the pit of my throat and choke me,
Knock the wind out of my system.
Every time I try,
Compare your embrace to sunshine
A feverish warmth surges through me
Making it impossible
For me to scrawl in ink, across pages.
Words run through my head
Like a hurricane, I cannot make sense of
I have forgotten the art
Of painting you
In colours so vibrant and permanent
That you will spend the rest of your life living in them.
I do not know anymore
That overwhelming fervour of 3 am
Converting the thud of my heart to art,
Leaving behind indelible marks,
I have forgotten to rhyme like a sane poet
The one good thing I knew-
Bleeding onto blank pages
Painting them black, in clich├ęs-
Now escapes me.
For when I look at you
In your rawest form, I just see you.
Your eyes don't remind me of oceans,
Your smile of the crescent moon
Your hair doesn't feel like soft wet grass
And your embrace doesn't smell of the hills.
For when I look at you,
I am reminded of nothing
I have ever seen before
Even remotely close to being as beautiful
As you.
My limited vocabulary and even limited experiences
Cannot do justice
To the phenomenon of you.

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