It’s not about yesterday ,
I am not even breaking the tomorrow’s bread ,
It’s about this very moment ,
Every new sunrise destroys the moon ,
Every new sunset creates another one ,
The stars never complain about this foreplay ,
They are selfish , maybe ,
Just like you and me ,
And the sky is the cryptic god of this lucid script .
When they make love ,
They are indisputable , Irresistible , Irreversible ,
No one can intervene the realm of the loudest silence .
They moan just like you and I ,
But who is giving an ear ?
Can they ? Can you ? Can I ?
It’s never enough ,
Neither content .
They sleep on each other’s chest ,
Just like you sleep in tranquility on my cynical palm .
How humane is to complain about love ?
Some are afraid to embrace ,
They will complain about others .
Someone should interpret the silence ,
Then you too may say “ well said ” .