He was sitting on his chair,
I will write a poem for her, he thought.
He scribbled something on paper but blank.
What could he write?
Everything he loved was next to him
On his bed.
To get a cue,
He looked at her;
Drowned in her books, she was lying on bed.
He started scribbling again. Nothing.
He stared at her body.
Her curves, her hairs, her fingers holding a pen.
How can she make him write laments and melancholic verses?
By saying a few words.
Now she was there : perfect, happy, childish.
Why wasn’t he able to write anything.?
She turned, like she knows what he’s struggling through.
He kept looking into her eyes.
Asking for a silent muse.
Smiling back at him,
She stood up from bed.
Walked toward his chair and kissed his mouth.
A long lingering kiss.
And then giggled.
” oh boy! You cannot write when you’re happy,
Let me break you.. “
And all of a sudden, he laughed.
He laughed at the situation.
Surprisingly, she was true.