before i fell
for your hollow words,
with withered wings
like a frighted bird.

i fell in love with
the prose in your eyes,
the smile of yours
and my heart demised.

i fell in love with
how my heart was tore,
i reached for your hands
but it was there no more.

i fell in love with
my lips were slain,
i kissed few others
but it was never the same.

but first love is silly
your heart never knows,
you sleep with a lover
or just the remorse.

when you dream of past
while all alone,
you will think of kisses
or just cuts on the bone.

and then poet inside you
is peeled and devoured,
and tears in your eyes are
just futile metaphors.

you offer your skin
to a bowl full of leeches,
you still write about love
but between the parentheses.

then you ask yourself
have you ever felt loved,
you say-plenty of times just

never right kind of love.



©aaditya