I would like to pour you on to the phrases of my writings;
Carelessly, till the pages are soaked wet with you,
You might worship me or might not even recall my name,
But I would still endlessly use your metaphors in my poems…
Wrapped (or strangled?) in the loving arms of my words,
I would like to place you together with fragments of my utterly diverse emotions,
A careful blend of imagination and honesty,
And noone could ever guess who you could be (not even you).
And I might succumb to the sanity of senescence,
But I would like to make sure that you never age,
Slowly and steadily as you get drenched in the ink of my pen,
I would like to give you a snippet of my ending life
while I take away your mortality forever and beyond.
Hope you don’t mind.