She wishes to feel the warmth of love again,
She longs to cherish the full moon from her window pane.
She describes him in her own way,
Just like a writer writing his favorite play.
No chance of scattered devotion,
No loophole for seepage of pure emotion.
She starts flowing like a poet,
Fantasizing him on a silhouette.
In his eyes I wish to see the stars,
In his affection I forget to remember my scars.
His touch pious enough to warm the snow,
His smile, strong enough to high the low.
His voice resonating as early morning alarms,
I wish to see the rising sun wrapped in his arms.
Around him my anger turns ice cold,
And all the hidden secrets selfie told.
His thoughts make my mind swirl like a whirlpool,
Leaving no room for sadness but only drool.
He helps me fight my fears,
Sometimes physically far yet mentally so near.
I walk slow steps on the sand,
For him to come from behind and clasp my hand.
He holds the color pallet when I paint,
Even calls the raw meat I cook, daint!
I know he is for now, just a dream
But my heart believes that one day he will gleam.
And that one day my life starts new,
Painted in his pious love hue.
AURA of VERSES 