A poem within me.
Smiling, yearning,
crying.

Passionate,
dead, dull
beautiful.

Sweet darkness of my own,
give light to my poem,
my own.

Teardrops like rain,
falling.
Poem, you’re beautiful,
I exist in you.
familiar face,
déjà vu.

Poem, I cry for you.

Cry dear, cry
No one to wash off your tears.
Cry into yourself.

When beauty cried, I laughed.
Flowers and destinies do not lie together.
For years, paths unchosen
have waited.

When I chose flowers
they wilted.
So I choose my destiny,
and cry.

Cry dear, cry
No one to collect your pearls.
Those precious ones fall.

A moment. A murmur.
          An answer.
Unwanted, not needed
To a question never asked

What is silence?
The absence of noise?
It isn’t quietness.
Haven’t entered a silent room
that is quiet.
Thoughts, glances
Faces aren’t silent

What is silence?

I can’t remember
what I wanted to ask.
I feel foolish.
Unrequired
This could change
everything.

When I die,
tell me something
how many tears
will you keep aside?

Purple tears
will be nice.
I do like them.

Miss me,
but not so much
that you can’t move on.

Don’t mourn
too much.
You are the living
and such is life.

Kinda funny, kinda not.
You promised but you forgot.
Kinda like a quiet blot,
which did twist the plot.
Kinda funny, kinda not