Hope.

Falling
and feel it is beautiful
Falling off the cliff and
it feels wretchedly full

It was there, the least to say

It was and was celebrated.
In the zooming speed
things often get slipped
or water evaporates in the heat
naphthalene balls sublime over a season
But it vanishes too, I did not know
Love, disappears –

Evaporated, sublimed or slipped away
I do not know.
There isn’t a word
nor is there any sound
Oh please, mundane is all

There isn’t that shine in the eye
or even that eye that meets mine.

Wretchedly torn and split apart

That baked ground parched off water

For what is patience for an expectant?

Beyond those nine months!

Torn and beyond a stitch?

Well patchwork should work.
But the tailor must speak.
His scissors should work.

Hope. She’ll conceive again

Hope. The clouds might return some season

Hope. Those eyes might meet and shine.

Hope. Those words shall go beyond mundane
Hope. Hope stares but not now

Without that guard

Yes, O! Once bitten
and even Love is twice shy.
But what is shyness

If patted to comfort?