You know there are times when I see the sun-set somewhere far
And feel it on me like the warmth of your hands on my face.
For that moment I wish that this was the only memory I was left with.
All my poetry is prosaic compared to this foible emotion you manage to garner in me.
I wish I could weave my words along the setting sun and your hands filling the voids of my heart.
Like the way it did on a distant dusk in the grasses of Botanical Garden, Calcutta
As you lay beside me looking at the sky
I wish moments could be made into words and people into poetry.