The tree talks to the hill, they have an agreement to follow,
You hold my soil and I will quench your thirst when rains shallow
The tap on the glass asks for attention in return
The midnight oil for lighting the page does literally burn
To see or not to see the face of a person you once loved deeply
The longing eyes and the pang in the memories quarrel suavely
The ox talks to the whip, straw to the sip
The bird to the air, open wings cut through with flair
The silence has a story to tell- an awkward or a brief one
Untold- The one that lips of a tale have shun;
The stick in the bun of pretty long hair,
Says to the neck, Dare not sweat you wear!
The strings live in harmony once knotted,
Art is what color does to canvas when blotted.
The tyres promise the road kajal every time brakes are pulled
The beans- an aroma whenever coffee gets mulled
A tiny wrist held by a bangled hand says it cares
A tight hug talks of the love and affection it bears
Everyone's talking and talking doesn't need words I swear
The pillar to the roof- Hold on I am there!
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