Some people treat love like a souvenir
A trinket all shiny and new
Purchased at the time
from a beach side five and dime
Something that they can cling to

They might hang it on their set of keys
Pull it out when there's a need of remembering
That they used to find
they loved the way that it shined
When it was new in the beginning

But souvenirs become tattered and frayed
As most if not all are cheaply made
It's a more than common fact
when you treat the love that you have
Like a souvenir, love wastes away

It's been seven years, she still tries to call him controlling all her fears.
The phone was still dead,
And so was his life;
Somewhere between the game of life,
deep inside her heart hope and love was still alive.

"There is something in you"

"Do not tell me it's the state of my mind that
Crave for meaningful commitments
Do not tell me, our doors are mutually exclusive,
That cannot open to same pathway"

I am in the make and modes of that solitary *****
Who does not know what is the gift of the given moment.
Who does not know whether the next breath is life or not having it anymore.

I am the ***** living life on the edges when not in the fringes!
With desultory realms of engagements,
Let me avoid that growing sarcastic curve on your face
When "my passions are flimsy"; why define the adulations any lower!

So my 'distant untouched enigma';
Do not be dismayed at this callous, rantings of mine;
I have done with many  futile 'serious' talkathons...
Ignore me as a silly, frivolous thought
Flew in and darted away in an afternoon siesta