If one day
you find me
not only as a poem
that you really love
and you don't care
who the author is,
I'll be happy.

You are not only the reader
I've been searching for,
but also as an eternal lover
in every words
I will tell you more.

Same bed
Same love
Same memories
Same old fashion
Same favorite food
But we have our own new stories.

No measure of happiness,
no need to compare.
Life is a way
we enjoy our own parties.

Always in the poem
there are no tears
between the line
but we will get the fear
and pretend that's fine.
We fall short
and say "ah"
to be the final word.
We must ****
the November creep
waiting until the end of the year
throwing the days
that make you depress
by the message
in a fortune cookie.
Maybe,
by hoping to feel present
in the short future
on the dream we have
will be the last wishes.
We are all in pain
waiting for time
to the monotonous sound of the clock
ticking on the wall.

When we can understand
after we consume too much
everything you no longer need
or we don't have to know –
technology that drives us all the crazier,
lovers who end up hating each other,
fictional romance stories and idol figures,
forest destruction, environmental pollution,
riots, the roar of caged animals;
I saw the news of an elephant calf
reported to have died
with an entangled trunk
his eyes lookup
into our minds,
increasingly miserable workers
for a small fee,
the state moves people like pawns;
beautiful and charming thief,
elegant wife and luxury
overcrowded prison,
slum dweller,
unemployment,
and a man old enough to love graves.
These things, and more, in content
shows life swinging on a rotten axis.
But they left a little hope
to drown out a little mess
or intentionally making noise
on the show, we have to pay for ourselves every day,
in the smartphone screen.
A flying bird
and around the roof of the house
as a symbol of death
against human conscience,
above he shouted,
“Love me again!”
such as vehicles and pollution
who came on time,
and the city awaits them.
On the shop front,
water runs high,
people laughing happily
and the flowers wither away
in rainy season
who came again.
Is there any form of sadness
other than things that are no longer useful,
for those of us who are speechless?

Come and dance with me--
in the rain
we were here before
listening to the tears of the water
pouring down all without cover.

Come and dance with me--
a man who hates waiting
looking for another season
to share a love
with a big smile.

Come and dance with me--
spending all day with the joy
happy after and never say 'goodbye'.