The girl with a book

As I was passing by your favourite cafe quietly,
A desire of seeing you slipped in silently.
A thought came that I should stop by,
With fingers crossed, praying to espy.

Tapping my foot in anxiety, I felt fettered,
Tried holdin’ on to my nerves as I entered.
The bell at the door tinkled giving me chills,
My eyes exploring for the heart, it fulfills.

All hairs stood on end as if a lightning struck,
For I saw you sitting with a novel and a mug.
Captivated, as you were right infront of my eyes,
Emanated out of my dream, but more beautiful to my surprise.

My steps trembling, it was hard to even trudge,
Paralyzed by your beauty, they refused to budge.
Mustered all my strength, advancing tile by tile,
Suddenly you looked up at me with your ravishing smile.

Everything came to a halt, not even the time was spared.
A beautiful bomb exploded and your splendour glared.
Hit by gusts of cool breeze in a hot summer,
Was it the flattering of your eye lashes, I wonder.

Your gaze swiftly shifted back to your novel,
While mine was fixated on you, numb and boggled.

My enchantress, spellbinding was your attire,
Found it hard to stand, engulfed in your fire.
Finest red coat over an elegant blue dress,
Adored you, as you multiplied their finesse.

One hand held the book, other fondled your chin,
The coffee mug got jealous as the novel passed a grin.
I got entangled in those lovely hairlock,
With the most perfect eloquence, they sensuously talk.

Is she for real or a figment of my imagination,
I pinched myself as my heart demanded a confirmation.
And still you were there, engrossed in your sweet world,
What all dreams have you woven and impearled.

Do unicorns gallop in your rainbow meadows,
Or do orchids sing and dance with shadows.
Are you all alone solving an exciting mystery,
Or with a protagonist of the novel from foreign embassy.

I wish I was the one with you in your dream,
If possible, be a part of your world and your team.
But I am just an admirer whose world is your smile,
Which your sweetest heart never fails to pass in style.

The cup was waiting again to be caressed by your lips,
To see your eyes reflection in the coffee as you take sips.
To feel those delicate fingers and your feather palm,
While I sat enthralled admiring your beauty and calm.

Fancying to see your smile again and that mysterious gleam of your eyes,
And wishing for the time to stop forever that very moment they materialize.

And I shall love you even after becoming a statue,
For you are the impeccable sculpture,the Gods chiseled through.
You are that painting I can not even dream to brush,
Yet here I am, a possessed fool, wishing to be your world, your mush.

7 thoughts on “The girl with a book

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