Play with my hair

Poetry is but a breeze
That sways fields
Into your forgotten smile
And lifts frocks
Into peals of sunshine
That warm your heart
Long after the words are gone.
 
Poetry is but a breeze
That clears its throat
Like wind-chimes hesitant
To find their voice
Amidst nightingales & jays
Yet finds nudge & nod
In invisible caress.

tn_20170619-DSC_0493

 
Poetry is but a breeze
Scented with love we made
In lavender fields
And laced with the promises
Only our eyes did neatly
Tie in ribbons & place
On the waft of
The flute a cowherd played.
 
Poetry is but a breeze
Where you dry your
Yearning eyes & wait
Chanting tattered words caught
‘Twixt the stones of time
Believing I’d appear
O’er the hill if only you
Remembered the last line.
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