I walk around, wait a bit, and again close the social web site,
I wait for her, she is not here, and time has passed, in vain,
I look at my phone, I look at my watch, and she is not here,
I fear to call her, she may be busy, or she may be preparing her
To appear before me, yet I am in fear, in the sense of roots of love.
And in the milieu of dead zeal that she may not talk with me,
As she is beautiful and has many friends who praise her,
And wait for her like me, and they want to love her.
They are more in-house than me as I am living many, many
Miles away, and I cannot run to see her how she is,
And some of her friends are so close, anyone can give her
A message – for preparing for meeting in her home – my pain.
For hours we have talked earlier, and I think she is my best friend
When I talk with her, and she has behaved like we are close together,
Distance is not a bar, but feeling on words is cheering charm of love.
And thus we have spent a few months after our meeting here
In the social web site, and she loves to talk with some pause,
Like, “Wait, let me make a cup of coffee, I am thirsty of it.”
After some moments, she returns, and she is polite
To tell me, “Are you bored? I am sorry, and as coffee is brewing,
I cannot come letting it spill over, and do not want to waste it more.”
My answer is short, and I say in an ironical way,
That nothing has happened, and for a friend of real essence,
Waiting for her is like a taking a breath in love,
And ascertained significance of understanding crops up
Like flowering bud in the firmament of love, I make it OK.
Today she is absent, and I am in the poor flight in the lonely sky,
And my richness of my heart to love her feels the pain in cloud,
That may bring rain in my heart, yet I hope I can talk with her.
Wave page is thus monotonous to me today, zealous pursuance.