What can I call this love for youThat standing, staring makes me cry
for things that are,
and have not been;
On your weary shoulders weigh
burdens I cannot name;
You keep your secrets far too well
And I,
see nothing I can tell.
But I am standing watchful here,
waiting, for the hourglass
to turn,
and turning set me free -
free to cast a different spell,
That you may rest beside the sea;
and hope some careless hour
you choose
to paint your dreams for me.
- Shaista