On this island, they speak through their thoughts.


Wavering on the brink, sometimes in shyness,

ashamed, sometimes with pretence,

they leave each other alone,

that first step never taken-

the fruit uneaten…


In the wet ambience

they speak of failed dreams once again,

and remain, in love,

hidden ambition lost in niceties so mundane,

wavering on the edge- in isolation, desperation,

never sure when, just walking hand in hand,

cringing at the touch of what may happen-

in a cloud burst,

they never look in the eyes,

for the asking is forbidden.


They just tread on,

on this endless path of tears,

nestled in a warm chest of secrets,

in a maiden breast,

a broken man,

in pretence,

in still liquid remains of lava,

pumice and voluptuous sulphurous fumes low down,

tumbling,

bound in flames tied in lavender,

rhythmic swaying hips,

a pretty face smiling…


And he with a ring,

just waiting, wavering on the brink,

waiting for a break of bonds from his past!


Whenever they could say yes,

may be on the edge of madness,

in a wilderness of an arid mountain side road,

stumbling on a cobblestone,

staring hard in naked desire in eyes

that forever hold forlorn fragrant fire!


When the maple leaves swirl in the air,

there shall be one more strand of white,

one more line on the sketch-

they would walk, just for today!


When the snow comes,

they would seek the clothes they need

to hide thoughts brewing,

for now they have that long seashore,

of surf that roars in their ears,

of dreams that hide their fears,

maybe they may lose each other

in this island made for two,

in the concrete jungle alleys…

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