I like you, but I don't wanna have commons. I want you so close, but with you being yourself. We'll get bored n tired of singing same songs n cooking the same stuffs in our kitchen. But, I like doing the Cheesy Stuffed frankie for you , to taste it after a tireless day, that I really like to taste only a bit. We can fight for the movies to watch in different genres at late night, and end up watching a movie together n sleeping on your lap. Even the theory of magnetic poles, supports our kinda relationship. Like poles repel, n unlike poles attract. ❤ So, you'll never know why I love you so much. I don't wanna spell out the same answers in a reality show. I wanna feel you n know what's your taste n beautiful sight you have in yourself to see this world. ❤
Poetry is my last hope, said no one, Poetry saved me, I heard from someone, Poetry doesn't pay, resounding agreement in unison, Poems providing words a soul and feet for my emotions to weather the storm,
If my poetry doesn't rhyme, Worry not, it's not costing you a dime, It's just a naive attempt of mine, To convey my feelings without mime,
There's a river flowing inside me, Eroding the mountain of my ego, Glacier of my humility is melting, Introspection, the sun heating me to my core,
Broken crayons in my bag, Painting my life kind of a drag, Pen enticing some unique portrayal, Poetry, your last hope, uttering in my ears,
Behind broken hearts, a pattern common, Road to recovery music or songs often, Alas in life, Hoorah! creativity beckons, Cliche of a story yet another poet born, Don't be the sour one, embrace the phenomenon, Tried and tested, it actually works....
Honey of my beehive was exuding so steadily that couldn't have kept pace with my volatility . Dolorifuge made me overwhelmed and emotions used to make me lost in the lap of garboil sometimes. But " " taught me , brought abeyance in my arms and kept feeling gigil . They saw the metamorphosis in my reflective eyes so closely that how my trepidation made a revolution boldly overcoming all the fears I had.
It isn't true that always love is responsible behind a broken heart of a poet , what if the one is himself a crapehanger , the one who always obtrudes the new beginnings and foists the weight of plights on the delicate shoulders instead of living the freedom of happiness , enduring pain beautifully and pouringthe words with courtesy.
Life has always treated my orenda so benevolently And it's eutony has been showering rose petals on my delicate flaws and being " "of this journey, I kept on appreciating many ups and downs those feets of mine endured .
I appreciated the opia of Emptiness which tried to find itself in the cornea but I told the desolation waving my hand that dadirri has now interdigitated as I myself lifted my little finger to Embellish the abundance by of poetries witnessed under the shadow of eyelashes .