And the heart messed up with precious moments
with no reason to get hurt itself,
Ecstasy brought it the pleasure of fake components
Which help it residing to the new-corners of book-shelf
Old, dusty, & rotten pages of books
serve it a real nice pleasant scents of its artistry,
As the time ticked by with looks
It goes emerged into the words of literacy
*No more hurt, No more love
Only the memories of past
seem to be saved to the broken-heart
The heart always gets hurt,
no matter if it treats the love right,
Love makes the heart brutal, faithless, & nerd
which costs it further with much price
So, the heart decides not to get fallen in fake love
again 'n again,
Seasons come every year so the rain... with pain
Love's fake, but the true love ain't, so are we
Love makes the hues of heart desperate so do we
What's lost and whatsoever just found
Love ain't a thing that's meant to be sepulchred “under” the grave of conspired-ground
And, by the end, the heart makes all the old and new books
its noble friends...
which pat on its flesh, & make it running along new-trends*
Dusk falls down, Night comes down
It slept away, & the morn appears around
And the heart gets spoken;
It says,
“It feels good thinking 'bout new-lit
& forgetting everything even all the pleasure off sin,
Literature becomes the beat; a passion, No more spit
Now I re-start off the life... living along wisdom, I admit."