Threshold of Joy - II

She doesn't like my poetry - that's true
In fact she reads to me, excerpt of her friends'
To them I utter thousand metonyms of tribute
She doesn't think of me as a poet too, but
My thoughts smelling in her, wrote an entire poem.
When her friends raise glasses of delight
Waves of joy splashes her face.
I do not want anything, but a sight of that joy.
Wherever she stays happy
With whoever that makes her so, let her be.
Let her joy burn the face of God in elation
Let her anonymous joy - break in light from all directions
She doesn't love my words - but in this life
Of hell-bent disharmony
She is my lone drop of love, she is my -
Joy. One lake full of joy.