Breath of the last Spring
If you are in love, you cannot resist,
But submit the way every pilgrim does,
And breaths they are not yours,
Not even the dreams of slumber,
Every gust of wind carries a message,
Through which you strive to find peace,
But when the night comes,
You wake up and write,
You write every season,
The days, the nights, the months, the years,
But something is common among them,
That they all end.
A reward
Death is not a penalty,
But a reward,
That I must get,
If I don’t want to regret,
And let her know,
In lieu of you,
I can’t persist myself to live.
“A poetic String”
My heart,
A poetic String,
Alienated,
Yet filled with beatific spring.
Voice of the dead
I was there yesterday,
Hustling in the bustling streets,
Waiting for my phone to ring,
And was in hurry to attend the meeting,
I remember the long queue in front of my office,
And a bunch of requests for appointments,
With my single call,
I could block the city traffic,
Yeah!
I was an economic hitman,
In true essence an opportunist,
But now I stand alone,
My family remembers me no more,
I am a culprit of being unjust,
For the acts that I did to benefit my loved ones,
Listen to my voice!
I’m the dead one.
A rotten love
A rotten love that young lad did,
In a dark night with no glim,
A mocking jay,
With no dipper trill,
A sleepless night,
With no tranquil pill,
With hopeless heart,
I wrote the end with no start.
“A soul that stride in conceal”
Forlorn become the soul,
That strides in conceal,
As if it will be left bereft,
And the love that it carries,
But never reveals,
To that chic stunning regal entity,
With mystic eyes,
To whom his whole life whirls.
Misery of my heart
If all the misery of the heart were to be portrayed,
I would pick you up for such an exhibition,
With the fear of getting betrayed,
I never fret myself to strive anymore,
Hence, I often die,
For the oceanic depth of my love,
I beseech its waves to sway me somewhere deep,
With the gaze that I had of her,
I set myself ablaze every night.
Spring voices
Ahoy!
The mighty wind of the going Autumn,
You might not be able to blow tomorrow,
The time has come,
The mist that helped you conceal my existence,
I will sponge it and sway it with my redolence,
And let the wind of love assail the ambience
