While reciting your poetic works,
I feel warmth of your intangible words…
Refreshing your touch and memory,
painting fantasy with each occurring imagery.
While breathing I inhale the notion,
reading your mind through poetry…
dancing to the tone of rhythmic motion,
flowing till deepest core, turning into life potion.
Empathizing with depicted grieve,
yet separating from my feelings through sieve.
Searching the "real you" in the plot,
knitting it with my "you" on the spot…
picking each word like petals of rose,
collecting them into my heart's pot.
Feeding the appetite to meet, fulfilling the dose…
lasting and lingering in me every piece you compose.
I'm making a sculpture, a replica of love,
I want it to be pure, just like the heaven above.
I pick a handful of clay with all the affection due,
I want to complete the face before it starts, the dew.
The features, the appearance and hue,
everything should resemble the "real you".
I know how the love looks though it's invisible and unseen,
but I know how you do look with those eyes so keen.
Though I don't have your portrait or profile,
but it's carved in my heart with a chisel.
I know this endeavor is bound to be an abortive one,
but I'm not gonna leave till it's done.
It's not easy to make a replica exactly,
and that too of you especially...
Only if I could make this sculpture successfully,
then I'll have the picture of love and you simultaneously.
The eyes are done, shape is that of an almond
The nose is small and sharp type...
(This sculpture perhaps will tighten the bond)
(Only like you can be this archetype)
The cheeks are like cherry red...
(You've taught me meaning of unconditional love, which I'll remember till I'm dead)
The lips should be soft like rose-petal...
(You've made me feel that love is eternal)
The expression on the face is vulnerable...
(You made me think some one can be mine… Exclusive)
No scar no blemish, on this sculpture, has any place,
it's clean, soft and a tender face.
I'm through with this paragon,
But something lacking, it has not reached to perfection...
O! Yes it's a life-less,
that's why it doesn't feel credulous.
If only could god give it life,
then only it will suffice.
But hey! God has already done,
he has made you my precious fren':
so I don't need this one,
you can be surpassed by noone.
But still I'll carry, with me, this figurine,
because you can not be forever mine...