Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Story that I tell...will always be incomplete!

How do I let you walk on my lawn
Would you only appreciate the sweet scent of flowers
Won't you see the crown of thorns, Though
My story lies not in the colors your inquisitive eyes see,
I feel I am betraying more than I can bear

Let you peep through a page of my book,
Sacred, what if only in my heart
Those delicate pages, are they not
The folding leaflets of a touch-me-not, Your soft hands,
Wont they leave behind finger prints

So I tell you only the highlights of my story
Letting you take the highways
while I guard my dirt filled country roads
A story lies in its minute details, So I bury my story
Away from all the archaeological excavations
Your interviewing eyes can dig.

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