A scene from a park, one late evening,
Is the night,
I want to know you...'
She, looking a bit absentminded asked him,
What is special about this night?'
He asked her,
Feeling, no doubt, a bit down,
For he had kept nothing bound,
But she had those eyes,
So full of curiosity,
As curious only genuine care and love can cause,
As curious as a child,
'What are your queries, shoot,
Why like a silly girl, you brood,
When the night is so warm and up close,
Why, like a poet desolate, you appear so morose?'
He held her hands which were uncertain,
He tried to feel her unnecessary pains,
'Why are you so?
Why you every time by words bloom Rose
In my uncertain, suspicious heart?
Why you from me so often fall apart?'
She asked, her palms getting sweaty,
He looked at her face,
A girl so good, nonetheless,
Late evening written sad on her face,
'So, you are worried?
Don't you know where actually I do reside?
Where I wish to take a real plunge?
Where my favourite, my poems, often like golden times, emerge?
Don't you know how your eyebrows
Hold my ups and downs?'
He asked her back,
Afterall that was the way to show her the right path,
The beaten track,
To pull her out from clouded state,
To make her find her smile,
That could only egg him to walk a few more miles,
That could make him to weave stories and paint submarines,
That could make him to present for her a night warm and yet serene,
I get worried by your shocking lines...'
She confessed, finally, looking really shy,
You are looking what like?'
His face full of suppressed laugh,
Naive her face,
Her eye brows twisted,
Like a wine, fully spiked!'
He ran a few yards,
And she chased him.