The soft cotton of your love is soaked deep in my heart,
I stand in the heat, it doesn’t dry,
I stand in the rain, the color doesn’t run,
I sit down to rest, the crease doesn’t form,
I pull it gently to my cheek; I find you close,
In that moment I can’t help but ask,
Why did you not call me before?
I stand in the heat, it doesn’t dry,
I stand in the rain, the color doesn’t run,
I sit down to rest, the crease doesn’t form,
I pull it gently to my cheek; I find you close,
In that moment I can’t help but ask,
Why did you not call me before?
 |
| The Song Of The Sufi Masroof |
3 comments:
Great poem, as always. I hope it's okay that I linked to your blog on mine; tell me it's not, and I'll remove the link! :)
@Priya, its absolutely fine and thank you for enjoying the poems :)
@Amit, thank you so very much!
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