Khushbu

You don’t express or say that much, 
Nor do you express what’s in your heart, 

You are tasting the moon far above the sky, 
Gave me the image that you’re seeking something,
Staring at the great moon, 
Your eyes tell you, need, you demand something. 

What is it that hides inside you?
What is it that quiet and restrained inside you, 
Or You’re the moon,  magnificent in the sky, 
The dearer I get to you, you’re rather unique. 

The things you hide about you, 
Despite knowing you for years, you’re yet a stranger, 
Despite spending time with you, 
You’re still something, I wish to learn further. 

You’re a challenge, for me, 
To burst free and see and read what’s inside you,
You’re that character of my novel, that is opaque, 
You’re that novel, untold, 
Unspoken, unsaid. 

What are you, a novel?
A character who knows secrets?
An untold tale? 
Or, you’re a moon, large, and holding tall in the sky, 
But the further I try to appreciate you, the dearer I grow, too,
The mysteries of emotions, 
Hollow feelings, 
Underlying dreams inside you. 

Any quick story I write for you, 
Any novel or poetry, 
Would be insufficient,
Would be dishonesty to me as a writer, as a storyteller,
Because you’re higher than a story, 
Higher than a novel,
Higher than, a character in my novel,
You’re higher than a word, 
Or a sentence, 
Or a paragraph, 
You’re are higher than everything else in this universe of dreams, 
When you seek at the sky, beaming the moon with your luscious greedy eyes, 
Despite a thousand thoughts in my mind, 
I steal an eye inside your heavenly eyes only to get lost, 
To left stranded in the desert, or sea called your eyes, 
Wherein lies a thousand untold tales, 
A thousand untold, unsaid, things about you, that you know, and you keep it to yourself, 
Despite knowing you for all these years, 
You’re yet a mystery to me, 
Like a moon, which is even a mystery to me. 

Who are you then?
© Ashraf Shaikh