Summer has ended,
and I've never heard your voice...
it takes the little blood left within
you to reconcile with the past...
Nah, poetry does not have limits
It’s similar to mathematics...
Poetry, more than mere words on the page's scroll...
Resounds within, where human depths are found...
Green umbrella and amaranth rains,
we were lost in the warmth...
Nah, poetry does not have limits
It’s similar to mathematics...
A writer not only writes what the writer feels but the writer can also feel what the writer writes |
Being in love is like playing with fire you always get burned |
Must keep my eyes open, can't fall asleep yet, I'm widely wake, but for how long? |