He settled his expectant gaze outside the old wooden window,
special rays from the fireball called the sun,
made right angles through the window,
fell straight on his palm spread out on its own.
His tears slid, on the cheeks faking up a smile,
they rolled down on puffed up wrinkles,
eyes expelled any stains of a happy smile,
emotions swelled up only warlike kindle.
The desperate urge to own all moments with her,
exploded a balky silence, pecking on his time,
eyes stuck to the window, longing for her,
was it ever possible again, life behaved like a mime.
And she was walking towards him, off his dream,
he cleared the blur off his twinkling eye,
she vanished in thin air as quickly as his dream,
was it her by the window? or in his mind. But why?
His claims on his unsettled love paced in his heart,
one look at the palm.. would she come ever in his life?
The lines on his palm scoffed at his heart
for, she lived in his heart, not in his life