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P Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Seasons have weathered
left footprints passing age
yet something is spared
to draw her in my gaze!
It's not as pink as first crush
nor red as primal yore
but white residue of dried brush
that makes me want not more!
I wonder if she knows it
when hold her in my gaze
not slowed a bit this heartbeat
my eyes don't see her age!
She wonders if I know it
when steals on me her look
the pages left are still sweet
love stays an unclosed book!
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