It's not you
    I promise
What I say is true
      He never deserved
           You

     It's not your fault
           I know for a fact
      Trust me
             You are better
          Than a boy like that

It's for the best
       Please,
    Believe me
          He'll do it to the next girl
       And the next
            And next
      You'll find your one
          In this world

        It's time to breathe
             Have faith in what
          I'm saying to you
      This might just be
                Poetry
          But I was cheated on too

It's time to believe
      You're worth more than
   You can see
           No more tears, please
      He's not worth your pain
             You're gorgeous
       And you're NOT to blame

     It's for the best,
              It's not you
          Please,
    Just Breathe.
          Believe me,
  Cause I've made it through.
         I know,
      What I say is true.
             Cause
         **I was cheated on too.

/
When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

~~
new born coconut leaves
standing on the head of the tree
a mild north chill breeze blowing
raising sunlight reflects between the leaves

the falling light playing on the meadows
the growing day in to the fog's shadows

the new moody breeze growing a little
the cowboys wandering with the cattle
the boy is very crazy with his flying kite,
the birds are too busy within the day's light

I am wondering through the shadows
and finding my hopes within the meadows
when thousands of kites flying in the sky
there love growing on her gloomy eyes

where there a few of dreams coming
as the light falling between the leaves
where there thousands of whirling
hopes uttering in to the breeze  
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen