English poem
"THE PROTAGONIST I'VE PAINTED WITH MY PEN"
Written by: Ayesha Asif
The protagonist; I've painted with my pen
What if I write a bit more to you, about
you,
while you listen to my endless stories,
with keen interest, those stories,
where you are my protagonist,
That one main character, perspicacious
all that I have painted with my pen,
The pen that draws you with affectionate
love,
Admirable love which can meticulously,
Grab your sagacious mindfulness,
Your focus turning towards the words,
Evidently, that were about to appear,
But I was shy enough to express,
Express about what I feel,
About what I think of you,
Shy enough to let you know that,
All my words are dedicated to you.
But oh, aren't words expensive?
Expensive enough to use them,
As expressions of compliments,
These unrealistic, original morphemes,
Expensive enough to use them,
As expressions of dedication.
The kind of assurance, I might hope for.
On that rooftop, sitting like a pair of
stars, which glows under moonlight, together.
You would have been a good eye reader,
If not, then how can you just understand
everything?
Without I confronting, almost nothing in
front of you.
You called me your therapist...
I remember, I always will.
The only therapy I was associated with,
was through words of kindness, care
and pure intentions for you,
People and their endless noises...
What if I ask few more questions from
you?
And you answer them all, gently.
What if I make plans in my mind,
And you call me delusional?
Yeah... Words are expensive cuz,
The words you wrote for me,
Impeccable, plausible, unbelievable
Making me speechless as if,
I'm not myself a playful pengirl.
Your dedicated words, are like,
A flower petal growing inside my heart.
Its aroma, freshening my soulful burden,
Everytime I rewind them inside my head.
Your kind of reassurance and,
your way of expressing your feelings,
To me & about me, is what,
I'll always admire like I admire the vast
sky.
You wrote about my eyes that one-day,
When I have always wondered,
since I read your words for me,
That where & when did you notice,
that deepness hidden inside my eyes?
Were my eyes really that profound?
As you have described them!
Or was it only a delusion?
Your thought of making those two eyes,
The main subject of your charismatic
poetries,
And wrote about them so beautifully,
That your words have astonished me,
In such great ways where I felt,
Overwhelmed, a little loved.
And most above all, a little wanted,
Without any fear or uncertainty.
I thought of painting you,
as my perfect protagonist,
in my realistic stories of life.
But it turns out to be, "You",
Who painted me as his protagonist,
In those tales of his own universe.
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