'Thunderstormed'

Look at her

Do not judge, Do not reckon

Just observe

Try to see the light through her hair

She makes sense, doesn't she?

​

A new book smells great

And an old one? Even better

But what if I tell you that

someone wrote her way far in the past

Her scent, whiff of north winds

Awakening the bloodthirsty spring

She is the tyrant of fragrances,

Live through her hair

Breathe her air,

Answering all your inquiries

She makes sense, doesn't she?

​

Now do one more thing,

Try to find yourself in her

You won't find an iota of you

Why?

You are from nowhere,

She is stardust.

Remnants of an unknown land,

yet to be learned,

You are ordinary

She is a red-letter.

​

Your most beautiful moment

The terminus of all your longings,

and aches

Her nights are like decaying fiction

She disintegrates history in the morning

She makes sense, doesn't she?

​

You would lose everything in her,

happily, be all smiles and moonstruck

There is no place you'd rather be

Just look at her

Live through her hair

Breathe her air

​

Does she make sense?

Yes, she does

She does

​

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