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.

people won't remember
your pretty face
nor your pretty clothes
and the money you had.
they will remember
the melody in your laugh
and the way you loved
and the beauty of your heart
and the bravery of your spirit
and the kindness of your soul.
they won't remember what
you looked like
they won't remember what
you had.
they will remember you
and the words you told them
and the life you spoke to them
and the water you used
to bring to life the dead garden
in their souls
and they will remember the
sunshine in your smile
and the stars that
hid in your eyes.

There are stories in your eyes.

I never told you how
sometimes I fell asleep
with the thought that you
were perhaps the moon-

always disappearing
with the dawn.

Gil-galad was an Elven-king,

Of him the harpers sadly sing:

The last whose realm was fair and free

Between the Mountains and the Sea.



His sword was long, his lance was keen,

His shining helm afar was seen;

The countless stars of heaven's field

Were mirrored in his silver shield.



But long ago he rode away,

And where he dwelleth none can say;

For into darkness fell his star

In Mordor where the shadows are.

The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the Moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone

When Durin woke and walked alone.

He named the nameless hills and dells;

He drank from yet untasted wells;

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadow of his head



The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall.

Of mighty kings of Nargothrond

And Gondolin, who now beyond

The Western Seas have passed away;

The world was fair in Durin's Day.



A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door.

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright.



There hammer on the anvil smote,

There chisel clove, and graver wrote,

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;

The delver mined, the mason built,

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes' mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoard.



Unwearied then were Durin's folk;

Beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrels sang

And at the gates the trumpets rang.



The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere;

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.