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To that lunar beauty,

And oh! Soft- vacant lips

A gesture of love-

The never forgotten secret kiss,

The future and the day after

Of love and loneliness

Seals the prayer of closure:

An organized mess


What would you call the petal-less beauty?

Plucked and plucked again to please your hopes.

What would you call smirking at couples in public

A lovelorn mythโ€ฆ loss?

An ode to the lunar beauty again,

That I never was for anyone.

Ode to the sillage of you that I love,

Which never really had you stunned


Would you call it a Petrarchan rage?

Of sitting on the singleโ€™s bench, as a couple

Or maybe that solitude of โ€œan artistic guyโ€,

Who sits alone with a notebook at a coupleโ€™s table.

And I write something alone now.

My love: the dichotomy of being together yet alone.

The space abundant, yet so compressed,

The silence we exchangeโ€ฆ theyโ€™re impressed!


What love do we share?

When there are no gazing and occupying of the corridors.

We eat alone sitting at the same table

We choose to walk with our friends instead,

Lack of amour?

And I am sitting at this foundation,

โ€œSpiritualityโ€, โ€œcleansingโ€, โ€œinspirationโ€

I donโ€™t understand many of your emotions,

And your listless, wandering notions,

Your pessimistic potions

But I pause, I pray, and I praise.

And hope that I would one day see the line,

The line I never wish to erase.


I, perhaps, will be reminded, โ€œOh! What a gem of a person!โ€

Yet all I wish, and plead, and pray for is

To not see that line that separates us like darkness from that crescent-shaped peek

But the line that separates love from dismay,

Of solitude, both you and I were brought up with,

Of solitude, now your sanctuary, my misery

And yet I understand and love each of this,

But I need to, damn, I need to

Separate not us,

But love from loneliness.