By Aarathi Bellary
"The last few lines lingered on
the book lay on my lap
I close the thoughtful book
gently ran my hands over the cover
some books leave such an aftertaste
I think of all the encounters in life
like in this book, my characters come alive
one by one I think of them
and wonder what did they think of me?
will I ever know honestly
do I want to know the truth
some self gratification may be
What was I??
was I a line in your book?
line you would fondly remember
perhaps a paragraph
that you keep going back to
may be I was special enough
you have an entire page for me
a chapter with twists and turns
and it ended all of a sudden
did you read between the lines?
was it supposed to be a full stop?
may be a comma still open
did you turn the pages too quickly
love you called, was a mere curiosity
could I be an entire book
but unfinished or unfathomable
do you smile when you think of me
recall a glance which we shared
the way I moved into your arms
the sway of hips you noticed
when you kiss someone
still think of the kisses we shared?
do you feel guilty of treachery ?
angry that I left without answers
or happy that I moved on
silences which moved us apart
distances or differences that drifted us apart
to love is easy but the forevers aren't
sigh! The people we meet
charlatans of Love I say
a business of hearts
imbalances of give and take
different strings of guitar
do strum together
real art lies in the artist's heart
I sigh again! bespoke artists!
When we meet again
Do tell me
What was I?
A exquisite line worth remembering in your book!"