Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
What made you think I forgot the lines on your palm's?
I don't have a photographic memory, and it was always old and worn.
Only once you held them open faced, together, like a lotus in your pond.
You did not notice, I tumbled and fell into those little ravines.
A cutaneous mite, I crawl infinite, line by line,
Trying to find,
Which one leads to your heart.
Now after reading my poem,
Don't go and wash your pretty hands
Comments about this poem (The mite. by Hardik Vaidya )
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