Following is a response poem for the Areesha Khuwaja‘s wonderful piece “Her Enthusiasm“.
His Vigor
“His Vigor…”
The way He looks at me, for the way I touch,
the way I tease Him, just to make Him nudge..
He cherishes living a life-time in brief moments…
With Him – no moment is less, no moment is much.
The way He starts a prose, I astoundingly admire His grace.
Nights loose a contour, so gets lost – the track of days.
Night I put some words on a paper – He turns them into a sentence.
As He tends to plant a secret – I guess a place.
In case of an argument I start, His kiss puts it to an end.
His passion of suggestions, my guessing what He meant.
He can’t even keep himself dismayed for as long as a day…
just before the sun sets – an unsettling urge blooms to make a mend.
He begins a doodle, allowing me to finish it my way…
We weave dreams together, paving each other’s way.
What would I not do, to have Him around in the life?
In pursuit of perfection, “journey” evolves – “goals” stay.
I’m a part of Him that can never be separated.
A rhyme of the poem that can never be neglected.
He wants me and leaves me to be, carved and teased.
Distances Himself, in order to have me re-enchanted.
His revelation: “I wish for the stars” – but in my eyes.
My confession: “I want a world” – but in His mind…
In gathering when we strike a hinting smile at each-other,
know exactly what’s hidden behind “that” glance – a sign!
Sign that He’s more interested in potential than in a success.
The hidden fun in dissecting visceral; a rebellion than “Yes”.
He cherishes to see flowers grow – to see them flourish,
never a sight of them striking a pose – entrapped in vase.
He adores exploring “worlds of fantasy” engulfed inside..
ones of whom no body has any clue or whatsoever trace.
I adore, when our last known destination is each other’s arm,
even when the headlines make “Misplaced”.
I love how I find him always cherishing and yearning…
my spontaneous expressions, my letters deliberate.
The way I smile recalling “the saint” who foreshadowed,
story of “birds of wilderness” becoming a “birds of nest”.
– Dedicated to the lovers and the union – a zeal and passion, an enthusiasm and vigor in the character.
Disclosure: The earlier draft of this was born out of an exchange with Areesha in early September, it led me to launch this blog, which though previously many people did insist me to pursue, she was the one who finally pushed me through. Some deeds can’t be thanked enough.
Image Credits: 7art-screensavers.com
Related articles
- Her Praise (alisohani.wordpress.com)
- I hate you too… (alisohani.wordpress.com)
- Her Enthusiasm (areeshakhuwajablog.wordpress.com)
Serenades of a dreamer... 
The way He starts a prose, I astoundingly admire His grace.
Nights loose a contour, so gets lost – the track of days.
Night I put some words on a paper – He turns them into a sentence.
As He tends to plant a secret – I guess a place.
His passion of suggestions, my guessing what He meant.
He can’t even keep himself dismayed for as long as a day…
just before the sun sets – an unsettling urge blooms to make a mend.
We weave dreams together, paving each other’s way.
His revelation: “I wish for the stars” – but in my eyes.
My confession: “I want a world” – but in His mind…
He adores exploring “worlds of fantasy” engulfed inside..
ones of whom no body has any clue or whatsoever trace.
“I love how I find him always cherishing and yearning…
my spontaneous expressions, my letters deliberate.”
THIS!!!
So you see.. All of it is magical, and it isn’t easy to specify something sometimes. 🙂
🙂 Just like always the last one you mark in emphasis turns out to be a “seed”… 🙂
🙂
“What is a poet?
An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music….
And people flock around the poet and say: ‘Sing again soon’
– that is, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.”
— Søren Kierkegaard