where the writers are
I feel like painting,“I love you,” all over you
A flower in the desert

I feel like traveling

 in a train with you

and rove all over the city with you

 eating finger chips.


I feel like watching

a romantic movie with you

and dance all around the trees

 as they dance in a Hindi movie.


I feel like talking

 on and on with you

 without uttering a single word

 on a Korean Air

caressing your heart

with my unspoken words.


I feel like feeling

 your feelings all over me

without feeling

 a pang of the separation

over the debris of the Berlin wall.


I feel like looking

at you on and on

without winking my eyes,

 in Shanghai,

a new world within the old.


I feel like plucking

a beautiful pink lotus

from an immaculate lotus farm

 in the Bangkok city

and present it to you

without clouding the heart of the pond.


I feel like writing a love theory,

a rational behavior of love

while holding you in my arms,

at the Princeton University

beneath the portrait

 of John Forbes Nash.


I feel like feeding the seagulls

with Nepali breads and beaten rice flakes

in Durango, Colorado, with you on my side

and then go for a water walk with you

 in Gulf Shores, Alabama, carrying you in my arms.


I feel like playing an acoustic guitar

and tune it with the rhythm of our life

and then gift it to Clapton

for him to sing the splendor

 of our rendezvous with love.


I feel like painting,

“I love you,” all over you.

Come closer darling; let us build

the Taj Mahal of our love – kiss by kiss.


Copyright 2008 Bhuwan Thapaliya