My heart is contended neither with your portrait,
Nor with the exchange of the few words of sweet nothing.
Your lifeless portrait and those soundless words,
Are of-course not so descriptive of you.
Now its high time for you to come open with me,
And put life in to this live-corpse,
That you made me these days.
Or else let me to end this worthless life,
And burn the heart that has limitless love in it for you.
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