Tuesday, November 03, 2020

The Rereading

I feel like reading it again and again.
Then, I did it again and again.
I feel I can't reciprocate line by line.
Then I did try in vain again.

Out of me, I doubted, you were born.
Out of mind, I know, when I blow horn.
For me too, I guess, you were born
For all you do, I think, I blow my horn.

I have felt from the day one the bond.
I felt I had this supernatural connection.
I've knelt never to someone else's perception.
I feel proud to see you are on your own.

You could write, things, of your own,
On your life and on your imagination.
On your books and MacBook, and religion.
On your grandma and on your passion.

I am here to read, from dusk to dawn.
I am there to comment line by line,
And sometimes to commend a line,
Or two, but be confident of this bond.

I can't label you in this special connection,
For any label is limiting a bond.
As for me, unbounded is every bond
Spanning the boundaries of every imagination.

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