The Dance of Us


She frowns, arms crossed, a tempest small,
A storm that gathers but fears to fall.
Her lips purse tight, her gaze aflame,
Yet even in anger, she calls his name.


He watches, smiling, leaning near,
No trace of ego, no shadow of fear.
For he knows this song, this tender fight,
A game of day that melts to night.


She turns away but not too far,
A silent wish, a hidden star.
A waiting heart behind her glare,
A love too deep to not lay bare.


He steps in close, a whispered plea,
Soft laughter laced in “Talk to me.”
Fingertips brush, a knowing trace,
He reads the thunder on her face.


She pouts, she sulks, she stomps her feet,
But oh, she knows, this love is sweet.
For every tear, his hands will find,
A way to soothe, to change her mind.


He does not hush, he does not scold,
He lets her fire burn bright and bold.
For in her rage, she’s still his muse,
A melody he’d never lose.


Then just as sudden as she flared,
She melts within the arms he bared.
A softened sigh, a playful shove,
Collapsing into endless love.


For she is safe to be untamed,
To wear her storms without the shame.
And he—her anchor, wild and free,
Loves the squabble, endlessly.


-Ramisha Jain

20.02.2025


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