A Confession Letter

They know not what you are to me. May be we are no one to each other, for them and for you as well. But for me, you are the giver, pleaser of my soul. I keep on stealing glances from you, trying hard not to let you know that I am doing so. I have filled my cups with the pearls of your glances. They are enough to make me high or get drunk. If accidentally I cross my path with you, you wave at me and smile. My body fills with warmth then. I could feel my heart throbbing, wanting to run out from my own self. I did steal the color of the sunset from your cheeks to my very own, when you smiled at your lady love. You give me the state of nothingness.

Tell me what do I give you for all of these, in return? Would you see the first streak of pure glittering light that falls on the ocean, with me? Do I give you my heart, that is as restless as a dew drop on a lily? Do I give you the whole of myself? Or would you like to keep my soul close to your heart?

Shama Javkar

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Shama Javkar

A messy soul. A literature and art lover. An admirer of serenity. A silent observer. A turbulent and a complete paradox.

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