By Chahat Gupta
Every time I feel like writing
My mind drifts towards you
You know?
I can come up with a hundred things
That I could sit and think about deeply
So I could paint it into poetry
But the problem with you is
You’re painted already
You make half the work easy
I could make art
Out of everything you ever did
I wouldn’t have to try so much
Look so much
Think so much
Is it your simplicity?
In this world of confusion
Or is it your plain old goodness?
That’s untainted unlike anything
I’ve seen or known I will never want to put a finger on it For it will be my muse forever The question of why you are The way you are The vagueness of it And the completeness of it To think of you effortlessly And weave a poem For I will never be out of words When it will come to you
By Chahat Gupta
Comments