Secret whispers ...

How can I give you my thoughts?

For they are not mine anymore!

I let them linger on the jumbled lines of my poem,

I let them be with the autumn moon,

I let them float along the aching veins,

I let them befriend the morning mist.

They have merged with the sun kissed horizon,

they are washed ashore along with the lonely night.

Yet

when the dreams would be luminous,

when the arid desert

would be surprised by a heavy downpour,

a fragile sapling would take birth like a feeble hope,

on that day I would

secretly,

avoiding all eyes,

without anyone’s knowledge,

quietly,

place them on your quivering palm;

and on that day, sinking in your arms

my thoughts would learn to flow.