Roses are pink,

and so are your lips

- similar, but same,

they are not.

Roses have thorns,

but sleek as butter

are your lips.

O’ come closer,

beloved!
Let me vanish

in the midst

of your lips.

What more could

a lover ask than that?

What more does

a lover yearn for?

Please don’t

be a mere picture

and stand aloof

in your painted form.

Look into my eyes

and feel the pulse

of my forlorn life

waiting to phase out

its solitude

one by one,

as the shooting stars,

in the haven

of your affection and care.

I will be your lover

for all of my life,

and if I could choose

my own fate,

I would die on your arms.

That would be

an immaculate farewell for me.

O’ may these desires

be ripe before I kiss the sky.

Let me rejoice, my own demise.

Copyright 2008 Bhuwan Thapaliya