Working Title.

I met him in a library, in the history section.
A lengthy momentary suction into his serious pass time
Time that I have stamped with my patience and gratitude.

Before this moment I spent my quiet with great fortitude.
I built a fort around my bloodline
Lined up the hearty troops from Bombay to fight away the superiority complex.
A simple complicated affair.
I employed engineers from Niger to create extinguishers
To fight the fire within myself.

    I reigned with self discipline.

    I met him in a library, in the history section.
    Doughy eyes, cute smile. Reads a lot.
    He has memorised lines from books
    And churns them out with sweet satisfaction.
    I fall for the black and white letters, the quotes and
    Misquotes, the bibliographies and Oxford press.
    I fall for his world. I’m lost in in his translation.

      I fall for his story.

      My barriers have fallen, and my soldiers flee from the havoc.
      I’m open to doubt.
      I’m open to him.

      Black and white won’t do me no harm.
      It makes the liveliest of shadow puppet shows.
      But, I used to love it when the sun rose.

Working Title.

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