Paucity of words. Drought.
She’s sitting looking for a keyhole.
Her feet are nailed to the floor.
I do not see her. She fades before me.
Moment! The mirror is now fogged.
These are not tears.
Dust is the one to blur the view.
Do not pick the lock.
Next to you is a window.
I write poems, so I’ll post one here. I think this is the first love song I’ve written so far. Also, I’d like to hear native speakers’ opinion. So, do let me know whether you like it or not, even though de gustibus non est disputandum (“In matters of taste, there can be no disputes”).
There are days when I find it hard to open my eyes,
When black is not the same colour black,
and white in grey finds disguise.
And all I know, I’m not even sure.
And all that existed, doesn’t anymore.
That world behind my closed eyes
Where my white collides
It’s coloured with imagination.
Imagination more real than reality.
I smile, realizing who among all could be the one,
Reaching to my presence to find in my eyes a piece of sun.
The last minute of the adventure passed by
Throwing me back into this cruel reality of mine.