Few benches before me,
You sit unperterbed,
A tale unknown,
A fact unlearnt.
A numerical to believe,
The numbers do prove,
But we won't equate,
The logic isn't true.
This heart is an asset,
Whose value I've lost,
Your glimpse is the profit,
This room has brought.
My eyes find your back,
The statistics can't lie,
Just one look behind,
And another surplus sigh.
My mind rewinds,
To the balcony scene,
Where Romeo meets Juliet,
And their love reveals.
There isn't a software,
That communicates to you,
For your protocol,
Remains ever aloof.
The sharpened pencils,
Dig deep in my heart,
And like erased lines,
Find solace in the past.
A line can be drawn,
Between you and me,
But the compass brings back,
A circle to the regime.
A futile lecture,
A mental dance,
A quiet love,
In a noisy class...
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