A fluid rustle of her grace,
And even the stars sighed with envy,
“How is she brighter than us?”

Sometimes in those lonely deserts of mirth,
I see her as a mirage,
And I sit for hours,
Never chasing, just still.

As if she is a delicate book of truths and dreams,
I shiver, while I turn the pages,
There are corners of faith,
And mysteries weep in those nooks.

The mischief hidden in her eyes,
In the labyrinth of sorrow,
Often speaks to me,
It says, she wears me as a jewel,
She lets me shelter her pain.

Someday, in some dimension,
If we ever meet,
We won’t embrace,
We won’t brush our lips together,
That some day,
We will steal each other’s regrets.
And say what we never said,
For all the heavens and hells,
To witness.

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