Another Arrival

23 : 59

Sixty Seconds.

She watched,
An outline of sorts materializing into him.
He watched,
An outline of sorts materializing into her.

The line separating their dimensions evaporating.

00 : 00

’31st December’, his greeting was curt, almost stoic.
‘1st January’ she acknowledged, equally toneless.

But the hands that held, held a tension palpable.
Two pairs of eyes searched and looked away,
Eyes heavy with words never communicated,
Eyes, tired with long dried tears.

Sixty Seconds was all the time they’d ever get.

‘Sixty Seconds’ , came a murmur in unison.

Hands held tighter

And eyes locked.

Sixty Seconds.

00 : 01

‘until next time’, a disembodied whisper was all that carried over.

Sixty seconds later all was quiet.

—————————————————————————–

Some would say 31st December moved forward for him,

Some would deduce 1st January moved behind for her.

Chauvinists, all, and none the wiser.

Only they know the truth,
for,
they are transcendents who merge along the seams of time.
And those sixty seconds will forever hold that a secret.

___________________________________________________________________________

Just a little something I posted during New Years. Its real fun, personifying time.

What If

What of the grand gestures of love?
If all I’d ever wanted was you
to read me like a book,
cover to cover like an old favourite.
Word to word.
The velvet binding now tattered.

Whisper me in the
quiet of the long nights.
Pronounce me, proud,
during day’s light.

What of you promising me forever?
If we are to die once born,
over and over.

What If all I’d wanted was to lie down on
the lush green earth,
or an yellow desert,
a rugged brown slope,
a singing sea cove?

What of turning me into a song?
If all I’d ever want is you
to sing the unsung.

What of your words?
If all I’d wanted was you
to lie down in silence with me,
Because,
The world is too full to talk about,
And only in silence, soul’s transpire.

I know,
Love is letting go,
Freedom not confinement.

But you’ll never know,
you’ve
never loved a book,
never lived,
never sung,
never seen the dewdrop
on a leaf.
You exist in ignorance.
In lonesome darkness,
empty confinement.
In mindlessness.

And all I would ever need are mere
‘What Ifs’