This greeting card, I bought
for its shades and shapes,
of which the beam seduced my eyes.
For its piercing words that voiced
the silenced thoughts deposited
in my self.
Your birthday isn’t around,
nor is it the Valentine’s.
For an unspecified reason,
it conveys a wish rehearsed many a times.
I know not your address,
nor where you are,
Only that -
You’re not -
In me.
Still and quiet on my desk,
It is an ever-so-hopeful being,
ignorant of my sole regret - that
I could utter the words it wears
long time ago,
into your self.
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