Do not wrap me in decorated words.

I will brush them off like fallen leaves.

Instead, take me to the quiet room,

the one with the shelves packed with

your thoughts.

Let me read them, let me touch upon the

words only your heart has the ability

to say.

You think of me as immature and blind,

but yet I see and feel the coldness

in your voice.

The walls that you build between us

have a very particular feel.

Shall I take you to the room of my thoughts?

There, on the table overlooking the meadows and the woods,

is the book with the words even my heart

can no longer bear,

and only God can understand.

When once my eyes drew you

and kept you,

I now see them wandering,

and when they return they are distant.

And I wonder,

how much longer?

How much longer until you turn away completely?

Please, just be happy when you do,

and at least,

the thought of your ease

shall be the coolness of my eyes.

I’ve run out of ways to tell you

I love you.


Nesha Usmani


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