MY VERSES

Reading the first poem,

That I had written for your pleasure,

You told me that I was the first poet,

To have written in your honor.

Since then my pen has not stopped,

Wrote hundreds of verses in your glory,

Run with my smile or cry with changes in time,

Depicting honestly my heart’s story.

Now misunderstanding my conversation,

Before leaving me, you so easily stated that,

I have just written a few poems for you,

And nothing is significant in that.

In between your two statements,
Do you know how much tears flowed,

And wetted my poetry pages

How many times my heart bled,

And painted the lines of my verses.

In the lights of your prudence,

Will you not admit that my tears,

Were not fake and mere showiness?

Do you feel my true love demanded anything

Other than oneness in lieu of its truthfulness?

Be it, for you they are mere verses,

Worthless objects of entertainments,

But for me they are the mirror reflections,

Of my persona, truthfulness and adoration

I weaved my soul in them.


You deny the truth, but truth is the breath of my life, i can not deny.