You come before me, my dream As morn comes in all its glory Smiling, blushing and mesmerizing Your eyes that hide a thousand feelings I espy them, read their message Some dark truth they seem to hold Veiled in smiles, flashing joy Yet some pain, some lost joy they reflect A search for glee, quest for true love they convey Can’t you read me? They seem to say. The glum withheld, the pain within. The sorrows of life, so shrewdly masked. How long? How long? They seem to ask. To be veiled and fettered thus!
Preeti Govada is a freelance writer and poet. Born and brought up in Hyderabad, she’s done her MBA in Human relations and currently resides at Mumbai with her husband and son. She’s currently working on her upcoming book which is a collection of short stories. She loves observing people around her and integrating their experiences into her short stories and poetry. Besides dabbling at cooking, she enjoys travelling, browsing the internet, reading and spending time with her family. If you’d like to connect with her, you can email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.
within my chase of drifting in the wind have a good way to begin through night skies drift in all directions there must be time for confessing shadows block the tortured sky a smile from a lonesome child drifting ever
Beautiful eyes Imagine falling in love with someone you have never seen. Would you give your heart away to a mystery? What if you could fall head over heels, do you think you would try? Or would you run away
Whispered names falling simply off lips, Freckles that ripple on skin, Azure eyes that flooded dreams. Eyes may capsize stable thoughts, Blindly wade into unknown waters, Not knowing awaiting dangers. A siren’s melody put in a trance, A map to
All defenses crumbled, all fears banished All reasons negated, all arguments destroyed Looking into your big passionate eyes Not random chance, but providence Crossing our ways time and again Leading me to your big passionate eyes Yield just once to
A pair of hazel eyes look at me. Your ‘bandana’ runs up to forehead, a scarf covers nose, chin and below, the pinky complexion of your cheeks lures me to paint you as a lovely maid. There is no invitation