Your poems
need not necessarily be
an ocean of metaphors,
brimming with lofty words.

Sometimes,
all it takes
is a drop of water
to quench
an ant’s thirst.

Enjoy the rise, the fall follows,                                                         ­                                     
                                                                ­                                            
 joined by sighs, that come
tomorrow                                                         ­                                 
                               ­                                                                 ­                        
In the limelight, the sun
shines                                                          ­                                                     
   In the twilight, stains of red wine                                                             ­                           
                                                                ­                                            
Beauty fades, just like real love                                                            
­                                                                 ­                                             
When we age, we see what we're made of                                                        
                                                                ­                                        
Children grow, if you let them,                                                            ­                    
                                            ­                                                            
Children know, what we teach them                                                             ­ 
                                                                ­                                                
Like the ebb and tide, and seasons changing,                                                  
                                                                ­                                      
everything in life is always rearranging

Life, a living orchestra —
a slow, steady climb,
the beginning of an overture,
greeted by the ****** of bells,
a gentle lullaby.

Gradually ascending —
a hum of the cello,
followed by a whisper of drums,
and a surge in pitch —
an escalating crescendo.

Emotions of music —
an overwhelming symphony,
dances alive,
attains its pinnacle,
an immense apogee.

A languid fall,
Into a pit of echoes,
all life enervates,
fading;
the final moments
before the end begins.

Aftermath creeps,
ushering in silence,
inching along,
devouring bit by bit,
towards a silent cadence.

A hundred thousand homes destroyed,
A hundred thousand souls trampled,
A hundred thousand dreams crushed.
All that remained was red–
Hearts surrendered,
the color of blood,
All for her–
a love worth the world.