poem

Do the lovers know that when they whisper these poems they are commemorating our love?Do they ever think of you and meor only of themselves?Do they know that I once found a strand of your hairand wore it around my necklike a necklace?That I kiss your handsmore than I kiss your lips?Do they realise that our love and their love are drops in the universe__ ocean of loveand that without any of these drops, the ocean would be less?

Wind and breeze are separated todayCrimson twilight denies to fade away Grass blades turn brown to match the soilWe pretend to smile at every turmoil

The universe on your skin is emptyfrom all the silence on your tongue.Forgive yourself. Let your body healfrom all the wounds you did not inflicton yourself. Drop the sword you carryon your shoulder for self-defense.Lower the armor you hold high upfor protection. Those who harmed youare not going to come back. Those whohave left never intended to return.

Tell me where the swans go in the winterI need to know if the mute ones can sing.Tell me why stars fall from the skyI need to know if it is luck they bring.Tell me why feathers land near youI need to know if you've injured your wing.Now, tell me where you end, my angelFor I no longer know where I begin.

If you wish to know the truth of who you are,follow the voice that calls you home.Go there.For where our love is,there we will be.

Can we share my eyes so you can see what I see?Can we share my ears so you can hear what I hear?Can you perch on my shouldersso you can go where I go?Always in my heart, I don__ experience anything separate from you.This shared wonderment becomes doubled.This shared love becomes infinite.

Where there is love, there is no need.Where there is need, there is suffering.

The tragedy of love is in its ending, the blessing__verything else. No love ever deserves to end.

I finally wentwhere everyone goesand I realizedI wasnevermissingout.

Tear me apart for your view.Open the window of my wounds.To catch one glimpse of youis worth a thousand cures.

In the very end, all we have left to atone for our faults are words.

No poem of mine will, be as beautiful as the one; I create on your lips.

running with sharp knivesnever got me so farbut running with youseemed lovely

All this waiting.Waiting for the rain to stop. Waiting in traffic. Waiting for the bill. Waiting at the airport for an old friend.Waiting to depart. Then, there__ the big waiting: waiting to grow up. Waiting for love. Waiting to show youryour parents that when you have kids you__l be different. Waiting to retire. Waiting for death. Why do we think waitingis the antithesis of lifewhen it is almostall of it?

Solitude is an unmarked place beyond the borders of the map, a place where most fear to tread. It__ no surprise, then, that this is where the greatest secrets and most valuable treasures are hidden.

Kamand, die every dayso you rememberto live.

Her eyes were the color of whiskey and grace. Moments with her always felt like getting drunk on Sundays.

She senses your vulnerability, and reassures that every dream you__e ever whispered in the night, or secret desires you dared not speak, are all within the palm of her hand