Ankur Thakur

(13-10-1994 / Samastipur & New Delhi)

You Me And Your Teddy In Between


I am alone,
Sitting in my cold room,
Badly I wish you too to be here,
I, You and your Teddy all near...

Holding your palms,
I would take you to my bed,
There we would lie down softly,
My head on your hand,
And my hand playing with your hairs.
We would not just speak,
But talk.
We would not just laugh,
But feel,
We would not just play,
But enjoy.

If someone came and opened the door,
He would say 'how mad they are',
And then he would leave us,
And then I am sure I would hear you giggle...

Everytime you would pull my nose,
Beyond my strength,
Without my wish,
My entire head to toe shall shiver,
Feeling your warmth and breaths so near...

After it would become unreturnable,
I would ask you to close,
Your beautiful eyelined eyes,
Take out your glasses,
Putting it on a nearby maze,
And then would simply stare at your face.

I know just after few seconds,
You would turn a little inquisitive,
And open your eyes,
I would let your face dig in my chests,
Then I would sing for you,
The most romantic lovestory,
And keep my lips moving,
Untill we both slowly diffuse to sleep...

What a lovely scene it would seem,
With you, me and your teddy in between...

Submitted: Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 24, 2013

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Comments about this poem (You Me And Your Teddy In Between by Ankur Thakur )

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  • Unwritten Soul (8/14/2013 11:44:00 AM)

    I think this will make that teddy bear also feel like it has soul by experienced it together with you two_SOul (Report) Reply

  • Anamika Jalan (7/29/2013 6:20:00 AM)

    SUNDAY night and the park policemen tell each other it
    is dark as a stack of black cats on Lake Michigan.
    A big picnic boat comes home to Chicago from the peach
    farms of Saugatuck.
    Hundreds of electric bulbs break the night's darkness, a
    flock of red and yellow birds with wings at a standstill.
    Running along the deck railings are festoons and leaping
    in curves are loops of light from prow and stern
    to the tall smokestacks.
    Over the hoarse crunch of waves at my pier comes a
    hoarse answer in the rhythmic oompa of the brasses
    playing a Polish folk-song for the home-comers. (Report) Reply

  • Leaking Pen (7/24/2013 7:22:00 PM)

    And who said Romantic Poetry is Dead
    Dear
    Ankur
    I love this poem, it speaks of innocence far removed from our society, you brought back the essence of what true love should be like...the caring, the listening, the magic touch you have so much wisdom in your poem for being a young soul...I truly admire and respect what you are about
    Truly
    Paul (Leaking Pen) (Report) Reply

Read all 4 comments »

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