A Poem for you

If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you,
Disbelief would become my roommate for a year.
I would summon ink in my body
to flow through me. It would
then penetrate my moist fingertips
and get spilt on an old, dusty,
crumbled and tattered piece of paper;
the six strings of my heart
would strum symphonies that paint
your face on my canvas,
and I would laugh a little joy, cry a little pain.
But in the end, I would smile.
The white vinegar of our memories
would clear the rust from my iron heart,
and my lost emotions would return home again to my pen.

If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you,
I would write about how I decided to tie
my heart’s shoelaces with yours forever,
but ended up tripping and falling into you.
I would write about how weird a feeling I had
the first time we stood face to face.
It was like I met an angel
who was a thief in disguise.
You stole from me.
You stole my keys.
The keys to the room where my speech used to dwell.
You left me both dumb and dumbfounded.
I was awed by your soul’s power to
stitch so pure a person
that it was worth persuading my eyes to follow you.

If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you,
I would stay up all night
thinking of why I never said what
my heart held inside to you.
I would scratch my head and look for
words that suit you, that you deserve.
I would try to request the afterglow to face
your windows and the moon to smile at you
throughout the moonlit night.
I would skip stones on the
river in the night sky,
and form vast galaxies
that would tip-toe into your eyes from mine.
I would pencil your name on my life
and play dusty harmonies on my typewriter.
I’d dive into your eyes. I’d sink into you.

If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you,
I would try to write about how
I learned to love my life
just because I had you in it;
like learning to ride a bicycle
or performing some experiment:
I was scared of getting scars but I realized
the sacredness of those scars
only after I got them.
I would write about how I want you
to listen to my heartbeats whispering
your name out loud,
how I want my eyes to cherish your smile
one last time before you go out of my sight.
I would write about how your eyes
open into the caverns of your love.

If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you,
I would try to write you a love poem
such that I could paint a picture of
what you mean to me.
I would try to breathe some honesty
and pen down every little detail
about the divinity that you hold inside yourself.
I’d stutter while reciting it in front of the mirror
and I would never have the guts
to hand the poem that I wrote, to you.
Because I never reached that place where I could.
I’d also realize: there is no power in the
infinite cosmic ocean that can describe perfection.

~ Swift!