The artistic gesture reflects in your face.
You hide it, chide it, tied it with a glow.
No one looks, but the vulture can see
How could you escape from his eyes!
you tossed your head, glad to watch the glee
While superiors are looking at back to make a copy
They unintentionally follow, you got boosted up
Laugh at them either ironically or whimsically.
Their ferocious imitation is your reflection
You know but hide, chide, tide with an intention.

She couldn't see my face for long.
I told her, I will return to your lap,
But, I was imprisoned in a cage of brutality.
Flesh, blood, chaos were my daily food.
I fecklessly took the taste of these.

There was no lights.
The moon never peeped through the cartain
The Sun would never rise
Only the hunger of flesh was existed.

There was no peace.
It was a day dream of optimists.
They waited for the new sun
And charished a dream of Icarus.

The air was polluted.
Anarchy, monarchy, and cruelty were floated in the air
The only perfume was the rotten flesh
And decomposed body was the mask.

The surroundings was full of music.
Nuclear weapons, guns were the instruments
Tanks, bullets, and bombs composed the melodious song,
Inhumanity was passionate audience.

Today I am a winged bird.
I fly in the boundless sky.
I sing with birds, and take fresh air
The sun, the moon, and the stars are in my feet.
I smell the blooming flower
And observe her inquisitive eyes.

I touch her but she doesn't feel.
I see her cheek burns with tears
Climbs down to my emancipated body.
I call her but she doesn't reply.
Someone holds my body and keeps me in a coffen.
She brusts into tears and scolds me a 'lier'.

Have you heard the sound of cataract?
It sings a song of beauty and
Examplifies the glory of  nature
How sweet her hidden songs are!

She invites birds, insects, and stroms
To play different sorts of music.
She orders to trees and grass to set
The green carpet on the soil.
Accepting to make a colourful  backgroud,
Butterflies, fireflies, and rainbow have come.
How delicate her heavely tone is!

I know,  you can't believe my words.
Go to her, listen to her song
Her song is as melodious as Ariel
Her background is as lucrative as Helen
Her stting of all is not less adorable than Aphrodite.
Your own sense will justify my words.

You are my existence, breath, and Oxyzen
I can't live without you a second.
Your beauty controls me from the day to dusk.
Your enchant mystrious look always keeps me in conundrum
It makes me busy to solve it out.
I don't have much time to waste in vein,
You appear to me with new mystery and new question.
How can I solve these in so called Valentines?
Someone may chain you within this day
But I don't dare to do that
Your evergreen  labyrinth puzzles me
Calles me to find the way of immortality.
You are the queen of riddle,
How can I hold you for a single day?

Spring! evergreen lustrous eyes
Kiss the carnal pleasure of the time.
Make a wink to those hypocrites
who legs behind your ancestor,
pulls her back into the graveyard.
Invite them to see your full-fledged youth.
Poke them to praise your eternal beauty.
Right them by derogationg their blind notions,
Your ancestor was not died.
Make them understand,  she was busy with Demeter
Tell them, she was preparing you to greet Persephone.
Aware them, strom comes after a profound silence.
Grow them up giving a sense
You are nothing but the ofsprings of your ancestor
Who suffers the pain to preseve you,
To protect you from cold and mist,
Dark and deep into a shell.
Tell them your youth is a blessings of her sacrifice.

The frozen road covers with blood.
I see thy feet are dancing on it.
You are twisting your body with clam eyes,
I cannot hold my eyes but see.
How delicate your steps are!
My indecisive oath lifts me up,
And clinches me to see your Danse Macabre.
Your indomitable splurge melts the ice,
Cleans the path to walk on it,
Invites the passer-by to go on that way.
Everyone goes, I don’t dare,
I just watched the dance of thee.

Pixy snatches our lucrative dreams
Making a touch with a magical stick.
She gathers all these dream
And distributes among deprived dreamers.
Our dreams are their true story.

They work on their dreams, we do business.
We sell them in Pataldanga Lane,
Sometimes wipes it out into a dustbin.
We think, they do. we fear, they roar
Our imagination is their success.

We fail to fight to get back our right
while they die to fly from daedalous labyrinth.