If there are no flowers,
Just Lies, everywhere.
What makes you a Poet?
And why do you sigh?
No one really cares.
If you live or you die
What makes you a Poet?
You always ask ‘Why’?
The Earth is not Heaven,
And Lonely, we cry.
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Fatigue sets in,
Everything stands still,A very, very dangerous mood,When life no longer speaks to you,But just your quill.
To share Beauty,
All of Life,Is worth just This.
Nothing lasts under the Sun.
Will be no more, one day,Everything is transitoryNot even Love can save the dayNot even Love can save,Anyone or anything,From going, Forever, away.
I don’t want anything,
That’s why I want only you,Because we both belonged to each other,Even before we knew,How much we loved one another,Even before we knew each other,Destiny, Knew!
How do you paint a feeling?
Drive it,Perfect itHide it,Keep on feelingIt forever,Ride it into infinity,Name it,Blame itKeep it secret,Passionately deprived,This never ending feelingThat helps you stay alive.I have a mild suspicion,That once upon a time,In some wild omission,And without anyone’s permissionSomeone called it Love.
Relationships are flimsy,
So much dependsOn circumstanceOn interests that were cast,But Love’s supposed to lastForever,Or so we have been told,This dream we have,That’s young and bold,Love, never does grow oldAnd can’t be bought or sold.