Category: LOVE

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There are circles in my mind,
And an angst, for I can’t sort them.
All the whiskey in the world won’t help,
My heart’s on fire but  bruised by treachery.
And love was all I had.
Seasons have passed,
and I can’t love again.
And if my mind erupts like a volcano,
I can drink in peace.

Poem #6: Hopeless Romance

Under the moon, I wonder if you’re looking at it too.
Hoping you’re listening to the same song that I am listening to,
Hoping, you look at me the way I look at you.
Someone once told me, “Hopeless romance is poetic.”
And I am a lover of poetry.
Is there any depth in unrequited love?
Or this hole in my heart is just a mirage?
Falling and failing, falling and failing,
does it end? Does it ever stop hurting?
To romanticize the idea of him,
To think of all that could be,
To write with my blood and sweat,
To stop my heart from beating my chest,
Does it stop?
I want it to stop.
I want to raise a wall so strong it can’t be tumbled down,
A fence so dense that it can’t be sneaked into,
I want to throw my heart in the corner and fill it with void,
A void so deep that it feels no emptiness.
But how will I ever write poetry then?
Someone once told me, “Hopeless romance is poetic.”
I am a lover of poetry, so I became one.
Isn’t it beautiful? Being a hopeless romantic?
I can imagine all sorts of things and believe them to be true.
Your smile,
Your laughter,
Your voice,
Your touch,
and weave them into words, make it a poem,
exploiting my emotions shamelessly,
sharing it with the world.
And hoping that you read it too,
Understand that it’s written for you.
Someone once told me, “Hopeless romance is poetic.”
I am a lover of poetry,
and my poetry is you.
 

Poem #4 – Innocent Rambling

If I were a painter
I’d have turned a blank canvas into multitude of colors,
Mingled perfectly in the shape of your smile and the dimple on your cheek.
I’d have drawn the moon that rises from the clouds below
and hides itself into the clouds above,
with that I’d have drawn my overwhelming heart – joyous and meek.
I’d have sketched my soul dancing with yours in the middle of the sea,
I’d have painted tides – high and low, treading on them, setting my spirit free.
On gloomy days I’d have painted the walls with windows on them
and the entire landscape with birds chirruping  on dancing trees.
I’d have sketched the weary eyes of an old man looking at the road map,
A joyful lad boasting his beginner’s luck, short-sighted on life,
And then a man selling fruits and a woman smiling wide.
Oh but my luck! I can’t paint! I can’t use the brush and paint the tides,
I can’t move my brush and trace the right curves of your smile,
I can’t draw your dancing soul and my demon by your side,
I can’t fill the colors of agony, of love, of wonder, of freedom,
and I can’t paint the starry nights.
So, with a heavy heart and twisted words I sit down and write.