Brush by

You make me stop. And notice
the season,
feel the breeze
Even before birds chirp
Your melodious beauty 
Sings to me,
me, in your song of the East,
the song that echoes in the hills,
the hills that hid you for years
till yesterday.

Work stops, books remain open
And doves fly away from the 
pages, helpless in the
breeze, Oh, you overpower me.
When reality flashes still 
Into the rapidness of life,
You hide from in-sight; 
leaving a smile that mustn’t be,
only to brush by, sensuously,
invisibly, some other time,
whenever you wish, 
leaving me
submerged in the lake that is you.

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