My thought, virgin
It never depends on any membrane
Nor my chastity belongs to my body
It is completely a matter of soul
Conviction is not a matter
That you can cripple it
With missiles and bombs
The spirit of my humanity is not a wire
That it will bend or bow under any pressure
Neither my creed will vaporise
Like a drop of camphor
Under your scathing attack
Nor will it be unholy by any human touch
Always set a series of lossesLike life itselfAll the failuresAre not self imposedPlay a great roleIgnorance, carelessnessAnd inexperienceTake a while to graspThe flower businessEven the petals of red roseWhile rotGive a foul stench.
I put some seed of loveBut weeds grew too fastThough I used herbicideBut they know how to surviveI threw out the rose, now I loveThe weeds for their survival instinctAnd power to grow everywhereWithout following any rowMy mind follows the heartAnd grows too fast like weedsTo pervade to hoverThe minds and soulsOf people all over.
All which appear always are not fairSometimes best of the bestLeft in the lurch and lost to disappear
To get moisture in the morningMy desire peeps in daily and remains dryWhen your conceit changes dirty dressStill I am your client in your autumnal luxurious marketAnd at high price your farce I buyThe burning flute of bamboo of June- July is not adequateYet the smoke of burning tune strikes the nostrilsOf this unfortunate poet.
Prescribed doses of rulesInjected into youFor the diseases you infected upon selfWhile you have beenWildDiscipline is for following rulesAnd meant for a mediocreBut for a geniusIt is a jailTo break it outOne needs courageAnd must have to be wild.
Killing in cold blood is like killing the entire mankindDear empathy, I totally agree with youBut could you tell me where your soul isWhen they murder playing children in a beachWhat kind of a kind act it isWhen unarmed boys and girls are shot in the headIt is of course a criminal injusticeOr an act…
