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Just listening to my beats

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably gauge the profound sadness
enshrouding my countenance; by just ethereally
glimpsing at my shielding eyelashes,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably prognosticate the hunger in my
stomach; by just sighting me restlessly gnawing at my
bohemian nails,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably sense the maniacal desperation in my
trembling visage; by just the infinitesimally changed
tone; in the nimble cadence of my voice,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably comprehend the wave of bizarre
mortification enveloping my soul; by just the
capricious tinge of poignant scarlet; on my
impoverished cheeks,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably narrate the experiences of my day;
by just feeling the transiently cringed lines; on my
diminutively frazzled forehead,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably guess the thunderbolts of tumultuous
anger encapsulating my blood; by just witnessing that
inconspicuous iota of frantic vacillation in my
dwindling stride,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably feel the insatiably nostalgic child
in me; by just gently caressing my innocuously
vivacious lips,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably soliloquize the first day of my
birth; by just kissing my rampantly fluttering and
daintily gorgeous eyelashes,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably understand the diabolically
obsessive agony in my life; by just sighting the
augmented redness in the interiors of my palm; and
withering body skin,

She hadn’t give me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably analyze the state of intriguingly
inexplicable mind; by just staring for mock seconds;
at the ludicrously staggering curvature of my spine,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably construe the vibrant philosopher
entrenching my senses from all sides; by just inhaling
the scent that drifted; from my profusely wandering
countenance,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably conceive the insurmountable
reservoir of fantasy circulating in my blood; by just
kneading my pulse a minuscule trifle,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably perceive the tumultuous electricity
in my compassionate visage; by just the poignant
magnetism that radiated on every step that I gently
tread,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably apprehend the unfathomable carpet of
dreams in my eyes; by just witnessing the
resplendently shimmering twinkle that lay; therein,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably assimilate the unrelenting euphoria
in each element of my persona; by just tracing the
tiny globules of sweat; that ran down my chest,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably discern the ardent believer in my
body; by just witnessing the resiliently unflinching
contours of my chin,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably grasp the artist fulminating
inexorably in my ecstatic veins; by just feeling the
astronomical propensity in my fireballs of passionate
breath,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably realize my uncontrollably escalating
desire; by just cuddling the fantastically zealous
moistness; which engulfed every trajectory of my
flesh,

And she hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably define my immortal love for her
divinely grace; by just listening to the marvelously
impregnable beats of my small; but perpetually craving
heart…..

poem by Nikhil Parekh
Added by Poetry Lover
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