When the heavens throw a bridge

from daylight to night –

newborn stars celebrate...

Why then do I think: if only...

I were nothing to you.

When night-lips kiss

a dream on its forehead

it awakens a thought –

a thought wearing an anklet...

When lightning flips through

cloud-pages in heaven –

my story loses its bearing –

seeks a fresh start, and ending...

Your heart’s window has shut

somewhere, somehow –

and I secretly wonder

at the bold tinkling (as of an anklet)

of my thought.

The henna on my palms

makes no claims – 

It has the color of my longing

and fragrance of your name...

If only I were nothing to you.

Photo by Ithalu Dominguez from Pexels