I know my soul is a complex of ballads &odes,

A barn where harvested poems are stacked,

But let me stare into your eyes, my fair one,

For there are sonnets scribbled therein,

Written in verses of infernous passion

& If only you’d affix your hands in mine,

We will become an anthology of poems,

To be read by our estranged lovers-

The ones who promised to be rainbows

To scare away the floods of gloom,

But left when clouds gathered in our eyes.

The curvy figures of speech may become amoebic,

For I have seen metaphors, melt like candle wax

And oxymoron, made morons out of poets;

But if we superimpose and become one poem,

&heated arguments tear us apart &break us into lines,

Even After enjambments have tried in vain to keep us together,

My fair one, we will surely be re-united by verses.

Photo by Wellington Cunha from Pexels

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