A poem by Arihant

Managing the glances of many eyes
Nudging against the air, ever so slightly, on being tapped
on the head by a rose by her beloved Divine
Wanting at the nape of a flower, is a touch of a hand
Could she be the plan?
Could she be the one? 

On Hammock, she placed herself in ease
On dry grass, she flew away, up in the air
Her body almost flat, then hit the grass grandiosely
A feeble twig detached and fell on her heart
Could she be the one?

Denizens of the forests, jaw dropped at her beauty
The beatitude of surroundings, rose exponentially
by her presence, out and away from even the dreams of Walter Mitty
Nearby was the loading of trucks from a barn
Could she ever wave a hand? 
Could she be the one?

Commemoration of the dead flowers, that lay by the trees
She played with them before having them buried
In the ground, her eyes brown, twinkling and twee
If such magic could become, the beneficiaries of a haven
Could i stay there, lay?
Could she be the one?

She never did notice, I spent time
To text her, stalk her, bedazzled by the earthquake
that her walk triggered, she fell a dime
She had it back from my hand, the lucky palm
She touched...
Could she be the one?

The freckles on her face, the plait she bound her wisps
of hair into, she drove away in the car
Was I never to see her again? Her countenance on tips
and nooks and corners of my dearth
Could she be the one?

Cover painting by Gustave Courbet - The Hammock
For more poems by Arihant visit Arihant@TheBlueEyedSon

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