Fall apart,
Searching for a new start,
Our sensitivity would be missing,
How would we be able to cope?
With the pain of being artistically empty,
Almost living without any hope,
Only Art makes us live fully,
Only Art.
From the Caves to Space,
Art is our gifted grace,
Shared, democratically,
The best side of the human race.
My favorite sound,I rebound and vibrateWhen I hear your name,You know, very wellThat after seeing you,I was never the same!You’ve stolenMy heart, my LifeMy Domain,And now,Even in the darknessOf my solitudeI see you!Just the same,As I, becomeThe SoloistOf my lonely Concerto,Called, ‘Pain’.
To the idealistic poetLittle does it matter,The necessity,For expressing, feelingsInner thoughts,The opportunityOf getting readIs all that matters!Spiritual WellnessHas no price,Poetry helps someTo continue on,And not shatter.
And untrustworthy animals,We get along better with our beloved dogsThan we ever will, with each other,Pretty sad, isn’t it, brother?
Disorientation,Her gracious heart she’d lend,She’d hear me till the end,Without impatience,My heart and soul, she’d mend.Like a sweet gracious song,She’d cheer me up,Not letting me give upOr stare into an empty cup,She gave me courage and hope,When all was closing in,Being at the end of my rope.Later,Destiny and circumstances,Had us part ways,In different directions,Our lives…
To find each otherIn the melancholic shoresOf Seas, that never rest,Oh, the lonely figuresThat have lost each otherFor they knew notHow to embrace,Life’s only happiness.Love’s the greatest fortuneThat a life can hope to haveFor without, all emotionWill be dead, before it starts.
So much that we love,All consumed by Time,But a Flowing Rhyme,You cannot touch,For true Poetry,Has no MasterHas no Time.
