poem

We all live but a hundred years. When I am with you, I live it in a matter of days.

Ralph Waldo Emerson__o not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.__ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lovers dream of one more embrace.One more kiss.One act of love, no matter how small.For in loving, lover and belovedemptied themselves.Now, they look for their oasislike men engulfed in flames.Even filled to the brim, they will never satiate. For they continue to leak, thesecracked vessels.How else did love seep through?

Come to me.Why must you ruin this moment?You are burdened with thought.Burdened with the pastand expectations of the future.You are burdened with your self.Cast these aside by laughing at yourself.And love,for what more is there than to love me?Take me nowand let it be heaven for us.

I left the bankbecause they wouldn__ deposit my cheque of poems.So I went to the store,but they didn__ acceptmy currency of words.So I boxed all my storiesand took them to charity.But they refused my donation and asked me to give blood instead.I opened the notebooks and made them look, 'What do you think I wrote these in?

You know how sometimes you meet someone and you feel like you've known them your whole life?Well, I feel like I've loved you my whole life.

Come back to me.Where have you gone?And why so long?I miss the star below your lip,the constellation on your chest.I miss your ways,how you net butter-flying words and release themfor others to enjoy.I miss your tenderness,the sweetness of your breathand the song of your voice.I miss howyou worship me.Come back to me once more.Why did you go?And whatever for?The heavens plotted against us.The clouds came andpissed on our lives.The smell of charged particlesstill lingers in the air.What will become of you and I?Come back to us.

Knowing you, I understood myself.

Sadness is an invitation to God.

Ask of your eyes to seeonly to seek love.Ask of your mouth to speakonly to utter words of love.Ask of your hands to feelif only to touch the lover.

All kinds of people read poetry: revolutionaries, scholars, sentimentalists etc. But above all else, lovers read poetry. Why? Because we fell in love. And then we fell in love with love.

Life is the result of the choice we make.Imagine what it could beif only we were not afraid.

When I'm with you,I feel exposed.Naked. When I'm naked with you, I feel clothed.Sheltered.

If breath is as close as I can get,tomorrow, I__l become the windjust to be with you again.

I see that you are heartlessly clever.For you know how to Love,but not Forever. You still return to me in flashes,so strong it clouds my Mind.The fire has turned to ashes,and yet, you__e not behind.

They tell us the only way to move on is to forget.__orgive,_ they say.Realise that you deserve better.That maybe they deserve better.You can't fight fire with fire.Extinguish it once and for all."Do not look back," they say.They don't tell you that only one thing is needed. Only one:love.When you are filled to the brim with love,you only emanate love.You become lover and love itself.Only then will you love even the very people you wish to hate.

Love is a snowflake for no two are ever the same.

Your eyes are like heavy rain falling from pregnant clouds. With one glance, you washed awaythe poems I chalked on the groundand drowned all my beliefs.Now, I only scribble your name and believe in your truth. I know nothing but you.