Of Things Left Unsaid

As we sat on the rusty cold bench,

facing the magnificent sea,

I smiled, unable

to control my glee.

When you asked,

the question I dreaded,

What are you thinking, so dreamily?

Why are you smiling, so beautifully?

How do I tell you,

that the smile is a facade,

curtaining the things I wanna say,

the things I wanna do,

At the dark of night,

At the break of light,

to hold your hands,

deluged in the first rain,

submerging in the throes of passion,

collapsing into your arms.

How do I tell you,

that I want to surf the beaches,

gawk at the Louvre,

walk by the coral sea,

sipping some hot tea.

Instead, I say,

It’s nothing, just a beautiful dream.

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The Dance Of The Waves

I lay on the sandy beach,
Toes gliding over the sun kissed sand,
Like a lover’s cafune,
The aftermath of a crimson sunset,
Exuding warmth and hue.

My fingers brushed my wavy hair,
As two waves rose in the oblivion,
Leapt up forward,
Like estranged lovers,
After a bout of separation,
Elated, they hugged, they danced,
They rolled about, rising into crests,
Hands entwined, swirling about,
Like the wands of a wizard;
Hands of a director.

Symphony died down,
A fleeting moment of silence,
As I closed my eyes,
Only to be engulfed,
Into the blue.

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