I have accepted my defeat,
And I know that I can't love you,
Not now.

Unlike you, I am not immoral,
But the lover inside is immortal,
Now I know.

I will love someone yet again,
That someone who is luckier,
But of course.

She who is smarter & intelligent,
The one that will love me like I do,
Yes of course.

That someone who is focussed,
Goes on a straight way to success,
Not off course.

Neither intending to insult you,
Nor it intends to glorify me,
This poem is a confession.

I am a plain idiotic lover,
I do not wear Prada like you,
Not borrowing such pleasures.

I am not for you.

I will skim the downpour,
Aiming the best for myself,
And I will succeed.

For my love does not perish,
It just changes its forms, and
It gives me pleasure.