The lines on my sheet..what do they draw…
The dreams that had played below my eye-lids all night..
The thoughts that were so deep even I could not touch..
The anguish I go through when in pain which I fight..
The lazy pleasure of being loved all over and so much..
The line on my face…what do they tell..
The sweet memories of childhood and laughter..
The ever coming tide of smiles and tears..
The collection of people who really matter..
The scars of those who even dare; render jeers..
The lines on my note book…what do they say…
The stories my heart have woven and even more..
The hard work for my children I pridefully owe..
The scribbles of feeling still not yet full to the core..
The figures of my imagination to appear and show..
The lines on my hand…what do they point..
The way my life is bound or I make it suffice..
The predictions of love of my life is there to stay..
The position of Jupiter or Venus will rise..
The time and day all the stars will get to play..
The lines on my life…what do they convey..
The direction I am heading in a steady pace..
The destination of love I so ardently desire..
The life I have come to make and aspire..
The pictures of all my dear ones’ face..
Lines are many and so their stories..
They move and curve in sensuous abandon…
They leave marks behind, of histories..
Lines needs to be felt and fathomed…
Ending at the origin, in a full circle.
Picture courtesy : Ruma Chakravati