The Stone Bench

The stone bench stands vacant,
And the evening’s fragrant with possibilities,
Excited as children they sit on the bench, close,
As close as they can,
Straining the boundaries of propriety,
Their feet rest on the spongy grass, ticklishly wet,
The cold in the air is warmed by their smiles,
Her fair hand reaches for the blue sky, touches his nose,
And falls to her side,
The stillness around them is pulsating and alive,
The evening dullness is vibrant with the peppermint of their breath,
Their only spectator a mischievous old tree, who says to himself,
Ah, the juvenile lovers again!

Photo courtesy - The Song Of The Sufi Masroof