If time could be in a vial
stored, the dust of memories,
of lips adored...etched in
the mind, like a photograph,
the window without a wall
is only half...
The shoe must try, the elusive
foot to find...the
spectacle without the eye
is forever blind.
Memory of your lips, a photograph...
Window I, wall-less am half.
To you then,this silent serenade,
if love is satin, then parting a blade.
Anirban Kapil Baishya (5/2/2012)
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