I am feeling lost
once more.
I know, but I don't know.
Love is not something
that knocks my heart
too often, when any girl passes.
I am selective;
I am scared.
People almost always like me,
but I could not reciprocate the feelings.
But sometimes,
I know.
I want to talk to her.
It's her smile,
the way she talks—
not with me, we haven’t talked,
But with her parents—
she’s respectful too.
Her features announce her humility.
Her lips, curved in lower mood,
grins the melancholy,
the polite of her being.
Her eyes, their lashes,
decorated like a crown.
Her smile rules her face.
She wears spectacles—
a sign that completes her innocence.
She looks exactly like
the girl my heart always sought;
her heart makes her gorgeous.
I haven't met her,
I haven't known her.
But I can tell,
when the aura is bright.
Say whatever you may,
I can’t mistake a humble heart.
But I’m afraid,
as I’m always afraid
that maybe—
maybe I am wrong.
Oh! I should be
I want to be;
wrong.
Because I can't make a move.
I do not know how to.
I am afraid of the humiliation.
I like my reputation,
a fake token.
Even more than the calling,
I question,
of my own senses,
My depth,
My soul?
This is confinement,
and I think,
I hate every second of it.
She knows.
She smiled at me.
I am not the only one looking,
but I see I am not the only one afraid.
It’s the fate,
I think,
or fear.
Because I do not know
how long I will see her.
Her station would come—
maybe it's the next one,
maybe it's the last one.
But she'll move on.
I, too, would move on
every now and then.
But the constant longing
for an authentic human touch,
the connection,
would stay,
will keep me awake at night,
questioning
to be alone?
I simply
do not know.