I am not a Poet you see yet I have found a friend for me, a friend who has forever been near yet I’ve never held her dear.
A friend who only helped me yet never asked anything in return.
I am not a Poet you see; I am just friends with my Words.
I am not a Warrior you see yet I wield what is said to be mightier than the Sword.
I am not some Stranger you see, I know the World through my Words indeed.
A friend once asked me whether I was a Writer or a Story-teller and all I said was,
‘I am just a boy who’s friends with his Words and She helps me whenever I need.’
I am not a Musician you see yet when I heard the violins and the trumpets,
my heart swooned like the magnanimous trunks of the African elephants.
I am not a Singer you see yet when I heard those ‘Ghazals’ and ‘Raags’ of my country, my mind iterated and the lyrics which were again Words; ushered out of my mouth from within.
I am not a Lover you see yet when I see the red velvet roses and the bright white lilies, all my mind imagines is Who’s behind these intricate detailing?
I am not a Lover you see yet when I see two young lips retracting, I feel an immense regret knowing how hard it is to bridge the finite gap between that small infinity.
Yet when I saw her, there she was, the figment of my imagination embodied into a real human form, waiting for the well-known and familiar voice to call out her unfamiliar name.
“Hold me close and hold me fast,
The magic spell you cast,
This is La Vie En Rose.”
The harmonies synchronizing, the lyrical beauty taking over the inhibited mind,
a boustrophedon attempt of scribbling down this emancipation of us.
The bouquet lies around in the corner, seeing the passionate lovers strip each other of their images and usurp each other thoroughly; mocking the anhedonia shrouding the world outside.
“When you press me to your heart,
I’m in a world apart,
A world where roses bloom”