Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
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.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Unwritten Poetry by Hardik Vaidya )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings