“Love, how many squabbles How many fluttering pages And how many mountains of grey We still need to cross ..? ” He stands unarmed Stays in the maze This sight every time.. It burns my soul every time He stares at nothingness Like there is a trade happening Pain and pity heart full Dreams and daisies handful

Poem/English/My Man

His voice entered like a sword into me He looked cold and poised Yet had lost all the charm and the glory He was there, standing like old times.. Grown hair, grey streaks and engorged body.. Reminded nothing of the man I knew But I cudnt stop searching.. He was coming closer I could see that small scar on his eyebrows.. From one of the ramblings we did.. I saw the tiny mole under the lower lip.. Where my fingers used to roll around.. There he is ! The man. The lover…. Read More