TEN O’CLOCK

Oh,
The tree branches hang a little wider,
A Little lower,
The sky above has same color,
All same stars and constellations,
Perhaps;

Ten o’clock,
The bridge squeaks in some distance,
Following a siren to split,
While moon remains predictable as ever,
Beaming as, is in love this time,
Like her eyes,
When she paused to look at him every time,
Her face a hint of fumeless coal in a cruel winter,
Emitting affection;

Ten o’clock,
His hands tucked in pockets,
His eyes like twin planets: slowly dying,
His muscles preserve her, scattered upon him,
His heart beating little low, oh,
But full of love intact;

Ten o’clock,
A shade of whitewash radiate on his temples,
A different frame on his eyes though,
That little mole on his bridge exists,
She’ll be here he knows,
At Ten o’clock, any day;
For she said in 2010,
Before the line broke,
He couldn’t know ‘when’,
But at Ten,
The Ten o’clock,
Oh.

Image Artist: Jhonny53

- Jhonny53 @ Deviantart.com
– Jhonny53 @ Deviantart
Advertisements

9 Comments

Add yours →

  1. Reminds me of Dostoevskys White Nights, a personal favorite….very nice!!!!

  2. Absolutely love this, Neeraj! You’re getting better and better.

  3. reminded me of White Nights also Neeraj, just wonderful!! 🙂

Share your emotions:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: