Monday, 17 December 2012

The Unsaid



Sliding on the violin strings
it pesters the soul
for what is left
without the goal 
which was one 
who enchanted with sparkles
and brought eddy currents
across a plain monotone.
The unrealized proximity 
before the formed touch
innocently gazes for serenity,
if not much.
Keep it hazy baby
let it sing more.
let it find the meaning
and stray ashore.
Criminal it is to be 
mused of the facade
that was ephemeral 
and kept us in shade.
As we move forward
for an unknown voyage
those words may come of use
which remained unsaid.

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