Borrowed Moments

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I can still remember when she’s mine

When she’s his; yes, ours

Her wicked smile that’s so divine

Deplete my priceless hours

 

She pulls me down on bed at night

and covers my peripheral sight

I wasn’t blind that time at all

I know how my friends used to call

 

This silly man has been a slave

and hadn’t been that brave

to cut the rope that traps the trap

and made him a vulnerable scrap

 

End comes like twilight beckon

seems a dusk with flight of doves

These borrowed moments left me forlorn

but at least I knew I loved

I did love…

 

This Poem Kills Me

Meadow flooded with gray

leaving sheep astray

Blue sea turns blue

’tis the loneliest place i ever knew

 

Blood shed above east

This cold wind is but the least

a mending ground from shake can feel

after on its chest, sharp thorns dwell

 

This poem tries to draw a lovely curve

on world’s face I almost cursed

it writes lines of pretense-blurred

 with wicked borrowed force

 

’tis failure, the service I don’t get

but frowning is never to make a face of regret

‘coz everything that’s left is just vanity

I don’t care anymore, this poem kills me

 

Moving on

Pain is my fuel

but I am still

Time pushes hard

Pulled back by love we had

Today I’ll keep the same promise

that tomorrow will be demise

of this insanity

that keeps me living secretly

It’ll be gone

It’ll be gone

How, what, when then frown

It’s still you

Oh! Why still you?

This silly truth drags me down.

Full Moon

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I can see your beauty painted on the sky

your sheen that hovers over my soul

your coldness that embraces me with all warmth

your silence that causes this deafening beat

You’re far

but these eyes will forever be yours

You’ll fall

Maybe when my dreaming beckon

Oh! Breathtaking full moon…

The Best Poem

 
Wordless but meaningful
Like a sigh of a night wind
On window’s curtain fold
dancing under moonlight

Lifeless but beating
Like an Earl’s desire
for escape from whip
and to build his own kingdom

Doubtless intention
Though doesn’t require precision
like any heart-full song
of abandonment and satisfaction

the best poem might have been written
over and over again
published every now and then
whenever poets’ pen begin

In My Eyes

 

You have never been as irritating
not the way you are thinking
When you seem to be stubborn
and tired of the fake smile you have worn
I’ll be the most patient man for you
When your toughness  turn world blue
cause you are my vulnerable Princess
A portrait of my Queen who once gave me caress