If it has ended now
And we stop being friends,
Just tell me clearly please;
For love has blinded me,
I will not plainly see
That it has ended here.
I'm such a hopeful man
And will keep dreaming on,
So, say for certain please-
That this sweet friendship died;
There is no going back.
Too late to admit wrong,
(I am the guilty one
The fault was always mine).
Tell me to forget hope-
That the walls between us
Are stone hard, fiery hot,
And they will never fall.
Tell me to reject you,
And to not trouble you
That I should ramble off
And just go away far.
So, say it bluntly please,
If it has happened that
We are no longer friends.

Stranger than death is life
Full of chaos, full of strife
Honesty is hard to come by
Trouble brewing 'round every corner

Like a glass of milk upon a counter
Our lives are rotting away
Under the illusion of newness
Brought about each passing day

Hard to live with both eyes open
Tossed about and hurled
Moving about like puppets
We're living in a dying world

February 10, 2014

How dare you think you have the power to take your own life.
You are loved,
you are worth it.

When their was no reason to live.
Life was useless, better to give.

You were frustrated and pumped.
From top of roof you jumped.

It was just a matter of second
yet enough to live whole life in this errand.

Ups and downs of life passed through your eyes.
You wished to give your life another try.

But now it was too late.
Worldly life had already closed its gate.

Your delicate body crashed into the ground.
It all ended with a dull and feeble sound.

405

It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness—
I’m so accustomed to my Fate—
Perhaps the Other—Peace—

Would interrupt the Dark—
And crowd the little Room—
Too scant—by Cubits—to contain
The Sacrament—of Him—

I am not used to Hope—
It might intrude upon—
Its sweet parade—blaspheme the place—
Ordained to Suffering—

It might be easier
To fail—with Land in Sight—
Than gain—My Blue Peninsula—
To perish—of Delight—

1203

The Past is such a curious Creature
To look her in the Face
A Transport may receipt us
Or a Disgrace—

Unarmed if any meet her
I charge him fly
Her faded Ammunition
Might yet reply.

1485

Love is done when Love’s begun,
Sages say,
But have Sages known?
Truth adjourn your Boon
Without Day.