By Chinmayi Pandey
I cannot teach you how to love me.
I do not want to harbor the thought,
That something I want you to be,
to you, means naught.
The world is mute, yet I am fluent in the way your breaths come and go,
and the way your feet strike the Earth.
The way the sea adores you says enough,
in the way, I would like to, but,
The only language I am fluent in is the lines etched upon your hand.
By fate, I hope.
For they do not agree with mine, and I can only try as,
they trace over mine in the solitude of the dark moonlit nights.
I would become the sea for you, encompass all that you couldn't, leave my shores and follow you,
just for you to tell me how you feel.
I write for you because it undoes me in ways,
I thought the strings of fate never could.
But I would fall silent for,
All my words would leave with you,
Yes, I think they would.
So before you leave, kiss me like,
you are churning salt from the sea.
Hold me,
like I am a cool summer breeze on a day,
where the sun burns your back and,
The sand is too hot to bury your feet in.
As you spent your childhood vigor and,
take my words with you as I lick the honey of your words and your lips, off the walls of my mind.
And remember the way your eyes met mine,
since I cannot teach you to love me.
I hope it comes as an instinct so primal,
that you can do nothing but obey.