With your curls

How often I have come to
The threshold of falling out of this universe,
But the labyrinth of your
Locks
Beholds a dire charm
For life.
How often I came across the woman in streets,
Laughing and chattering,
In exile, I think of you
Like a mist of fallen dew.
That curve spread on
Your face,
With your eyes staring into oblivion.
I think and I think of you
Measure me not with my words,
You come to me as my unrhymed poetry at midnight
Settling the sorrows,
Under the moonlit sky
Holding the paradox of universe
I fall in love with you.

© Asna Azhar