Under The Old Oak Tree Poem by Nayyar Afaq

Dreams.
Every time, when I look at the window,
Across the stretched curtains of solitude,
Your face gleams.
And I wish to hold your hands,
To dance in the dream lands.

Meet me under the old oak tree,
While you sleep tonight.
We will sit there for hours.
(Enjoying the rain of flowers)
And would feel the resonation of each other’s lips.
I can imagine how your voice sounds;
Delicate, shy, and gentle.
Like the soft wind that your words bring into my soul;
Touching, caring, and sentimental.
You hid your hands behind your back,
Like they can’t impress my soul,
They are thin, clumsy and black.
Don’t be sad.
Get them out,
And look at the lines.
Can they tell the future?
By showing glossy signs,
Or just are reminder of the past,
Of years of waiting for the joy.
That we promised ourselves?
(Decades ago)
When I was young girl, and you were boy.

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nayyar.afaq@gmail.com