Whirlpool of Our Stories
And I come here to take your hand,
I'll forget the world and all jealousy;
If you would only hold me close as we walk;
Walk on this timeless sand.
And I will leave behind all the worldly pleasure,
Walk beside you holding your finger like a child.
If you say I'm funny that way, I'll be the clown
To see you smile, behind the laugher that you hide.
And I can promise nothing but my idiocy,
Or naiveté that says, you are my lucky star,
If you are the silhouette, I'll be your shadow
Tangled and entwined; inseparable by desire.
Yet we shy away, from this untamed longing,
Whirlpool of our stories tuckered us out,
Speaking in whispers of self-righteous doubt;
For nothing ever ends, but has many beginnings.
Then again! And then again!! And then again!!
Speaking strictly for me, we cling onto hope;
I will be the trapeze swinger on the worn out fiery rope,
Just to walk beside you and hold your hand in the rain.
Nayeemul Karim is a poet, bibliophile, and crazy cat lad.
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