When I kissed you
In an arid waste of that cheek
The tangle of your hair did dissect
Indulged in making a tale brief
Of some sombre trivial demise
Of hope forlorn or of rainy nights
And the communication between two hearts
Flowered perhaps in meadows of grass
Sweet whispers stopped not
A song of soul on warm lips
Neither charm away nor stop now
The wonder of love in mind?s crypts.


Durlabh Singh.