Amna reclines, in shades
Of sheesham brown, and a shade of black
The browns on her, merge into the wood
Camouflaged while she converses distant
As her words reach distant eyes
That take refuge leaning on a stony wall
He wears greys, trying to blend in
Letting the world pass him by
She poses questions, that have no answers
Neither he does, nor does he try to think of
What he wishes to know for sure though is
What her voice would sound like in his ears
If the world could for a moment stop
The sun would pause, the air would still
Maybe she could voice out herself, scream into his ears
Maybe he could fill his mind with possible poetic spills
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