My poetry

Love speaks

If love could speak, what would love say?
I’m mending everyman,
But not everyman is worth mending,
Or even mend for me.
I am pure, and I am free.
Yet you are confused by me.
What I am, who I am, and what I can be.
My qualities are unique.
My beauty is kind.
My feeling is warm.
If you become a part of me, and I a part of you.
You would no longer be you.
And I would no longer be love.
You would be me and I you!! ( Love would have a face)
Thus I will stay with you,
Till death to be free.

Although we are not aware of this, love speaks everyday. Most of us who do see it , see it when we are in love ourselves. Once we fall in love(real or true love that is) it will never leave until death.

I Love Thee

If it were true that you and I could no longer be,
I would no longer be me!
And if I can’t convince thee that I am the one,
Then I should be labeled a loner at once.
For it is I who love’s thee,
For it is I who hate’s thee!
Since I learned to love thee,
My heart learned the beat of love.
I would dance to it if I had thee by my side;
Instead I lay down my sorrow,
Put my emotions in a pot labeled hide
As vindictive I tent sometimes to be,
I strangle my sorrow and try to be free.


When you have found someone you really connect with and let them slip away.
You will learn to live with regret. Saying what if, and I wish. Because you love him/her (thee)





My Rejection

I’m in love with a face,
A mere image of my own reflection.
Suddenly it turns to hate,
Is it me? My own rejection?
Or is it fate that wants me to hate?
I live in the wilderness of my devotions,
A narrow path that leads to my everlasting emotions,
To fulfill an unfulfilled passionate obsession.
As I pass by an old fountain I gaze upon mine own reflection.
A butterfly whose wings have been ripped away!
Left there in the brutal world to decay.
Thus it is no longer perfect,
The world rejects its unattractiveness.
When all she wants is a sense of belongingness.

My Recollection of a human’s portrait

I am disgraced by my own portrait,
I am graced by my own pattern.
I have inherited my father’s traits,
And therefore wounded my mother’s faith!
I love the feeling of recollection,
It allows my infinite deception,
Where I can bring memories far from hell,
Where it’s “ok” and not one can tell.
The real deal of my imperfection.
To be human is just a phase!
Not one is real, just a scene,
An entrance, an act, and an exit.



This is a Sonnet that i wrote one day when inspired by my life.
I don't expect people to understand it cause it is something deep deep inside myself. But if anybody does, i'm really interested to hear about it.