But you called it frivolous falsehood.
Perhaps you wanted me to SAY,
You were beautiful beyond the'look'.
Words are the marked musical notes,
Composed by the mad swing movement
Of the vocal cords,the palates hard and soft
And the clueless lips,in tune with the larynx.
The tongue might turn the lyricist,for a while.
But the lungs sing their breath,long and short.
And the heart keeps beating its percussion throbs.
Rest your ears for a while,on my singing chest,
To listen to the music that springs spiritedly
From my heart,with its hoary,hearty rhythms.
Dumbness has its unheard,low profile lungs,
Panting in and out,bunches and bulks of,
Breezy blossoms,bearing their pricking thorns.
What your frail eyes pretend not to be seeing,
And your earthen ears faltering to process,
Is happening heartily,in the mind's recess.
Lift your blinds to be on a one to one meet.
Unsaid love makes its awesome notes,off beat.
P.Chandrasekaran.
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