My Mysterious Muse

I scribbled this thinking about you,
And how if you were a novel,
An adventure of sadness and happiness,
Woven together like a love lost in heaven,

You would remind me of the stars and galaxies
The constellations and caffeine,
Full of pages holding mysteries,
Making me laugh and cry at the same time,

You would smell like history with a worn out spine,
And ink that would bleed from the words left behind,
Like the novel I always take down,
For my tumbling thoughts to bind!

– Swati Prakash


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