The Shape Of ' I ' Poem by Emtiaz Anwar

A shape is traced in moonlit sand,
Its edges softened by the sea's caress.
We name it 'I'—a tender frame,
Redrawn with every heartbeat's press.
Not fixed, not firm, not bound by walls,
But woven where our lovers' whispers call.
A glance, a sigh, a touch's spark—
Each moment carves the soul's own arc.
To love is not to hold or chain,
But to surrender, blend like rain.
In giving, we dissolve the line,
Where 'I' and 'you' entwine divine.
And death, that gentle, final art,
Unweaves the self from every heart.
No loss, but union—vast and wide—
Two tides as one within the tide.
So live not as a wall, apart,
But as a window, heart to heart.
For love is not a cage to bind—
It's wind, it's wave, it's stars aligned.