The night I anticipate to come ...

Rowing on the plank of wood,

With you by my side,

Sheathed under the pallor of moon,

In the tranquility of unflappable water,

With savannahs staring us from the sides,

Is the night anticipates me to come.

Shore far away from the sight,

Amidst the green water

All night,

Staring far at nothingness,

With thoughts tranquil as the inert pasture

On the water side,

Is the night anticipates me to come.

Fingers fiddling betwixt fingers,

Body resting on the resilient shoulder,

Limbs rubbing coyly against each other,

Souls flowing out to be together,

Is the night anticipates me to come.

Stillness on the move,

Softness in the wilderness,

Darkness in the pallor,

Loneliness in the togetherness,

Is the night anticipates me to come.

On the shore,

Dreaming the night

I anticipate,

I held the horses for long.

Hide and seek has been played enough.

Shun the thoughts!

Come along!
To make the night I anticipate,
The real,

Giving a reason

In our reminiscences

To beam wide.

My Dream Still Sits on the Last Bench

My dream still sits on the last bench,

From where two pairs of eyes,

Placed far away from each other,

Stared for hours,

Longing to be together.

What was love …

Those innocent eyes were far from aware of.

Yet love was what dribbled from there.

Meekly goes hazy all;

Forcing one pair of eyes,

To quest for the other,

In the digs of darkness.

Darkness grows deeper and deeper,

Diluting the other pair;

With the clock striking the early rays;

Into the light of actuality.

For the second time,

Light fades away,

To the dim,

Leaving …

My dream, yet again, on the last bench …

For one more glimpse.