A not so shy poet would spread his dreams
Under girl’s feet , not to walk hard on them.
They have fallen on their faces like parijats.
He is pulling her legs when his dreams fall
On their white faces with the feet to the sky
Red and dead under morning walker’s feet.
He asks the lover to tread softly on dreams
Those he spreads under her dreaming feet.
He cannot resist love for hyperbole or two.