when rains drew patterns on your face glassy...

When the rains patterns sketched
On the glass of your morbid face...
Seated uncharacteristically calm
At the table like a dry flower losing charms...
 I tiptoed towards you pulled
Like a man in a circus ring fooled...

Thought not to break your trance
When rainy drops by the glass panel danced...
Only wanted to sit up you in front
Gathering your eyes smitten by empty vaunt
Thought not to unravel your state
Wanted only to be scissored by bewildered fate...

The Fate of being with your glassy patterns
The fate of discovering melancholia, not by mere chance...
But by a choice made the moment the pulls on me worked...
By my tiptoeing silence towards you as distinctly chalked... 
Perhaps like a preordained unchallenged mighty prophecy
Perhaps like being doomed to be sunk finally in your face glassy...