Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Unwritten Poetry


At times she comes and refuses to leave.
She softly whispers this time let it only be we.
I loose my self in her warm embrace,
Buried in her bosom like the crescent of the moon,
While time meanders through us, on a Sunday afternoon.

Submitted: Sunday, February 03, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

There are times when a poem comes to me, but I am lost in the poem, I choose to stay with her, rather then pen her down.

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