11:11
He wished that the poor little kid gets food and all his needs.
11:11
He wished for that girl in the a street that she will no longer sell love to another man.
11:11
He wished that the old waiter gets treated good in his work.
11:11
He wished for the newly born girl in her mother's arms that her future will be good and happy.

....11:11
He wished for something he never ever felt before.
To feel loved.

on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.

Somewhere along the way
I've seem to forgotten your face
Your name somehow became a mystery.
Somewhere along the way
I've filled in the empty space
your name somehow became a mystery.

Somewhere along the way
I wish I could remember you
but I do not know who you were
or who you are...

So tell me, does the clouds miss the raindrops;
did I wake up forgetting teardrops,
because I've seen sunny sky turn grey
and still I wish I hadn't forgotten your name.

But goodbye to you, who I once fell for
so goodbye to you, who made bells roar...

So please just say goodnight,
I've fought the midnight blues
So please just say goodbye
because I've forgotten you