Talking to Midnight
In the midnight, when peace disturbed,
The cold dark poured its whisper,
Straight and deep in my ears,
When nobody listened to us,we talked
We talked about that girl,
To whom I started to love,
We talked about how did it start?
We talked about how to stop?
We talked about almost everything,
But talked about her, just about her.
When asked, I say," I really don't know, how?"
She nodded, "But can't believe", her voice
Audible as a jackal's howl,
As it spreads through the black wind shiver,
Like the seeds of oak in a sultry summer,
Midnight forbade me to stop,
I convinced that it hurts like hell,
"What?", When asked,
I reply," To love and not to be loved"
We both laughed followed by grieving tears,
"Did you tell?"
"Are you mad?" As if thunderstrucked,
She stood and started to whisper,
"Tell her she is pretty",
"Tell her she has eloquent eyes",
"Not to forget dusky hairs",
"Also say her À la mode"
"Tell her to be beguiling"
"She's darling, also dazzling"
"Mention her as hypnotic"
"Clear, she's magnetic"
Midnight stopped to breathe,
I was looking at her bludgeoning.
The dawn just entered in my room, I
Saw midnight, waving her hand, year passed
And I still wonder
"Should I tell that girl?"