.
~~
One day you were waiting
your soul singing,
behind an open window,
in front of a large meadow

For the days long
there you made a love song
that blew me so long
grew our love so strong

where never seen any sad,
even days were not at all bad

If I did a little late
that I never forget,
sometimes you made a huff
but between us there was no gap

..
O, the days have gone
If I do not make any wrong
yet the little robin sings the spring's song,
which I bought through my lifelong

But your silhouette,
doesn't go a little far off yet

With a mystic fate
there a pair of pigeons set
yet trying to mate
just before the last breath
.
..
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

~~
Those might have been told in any other way
but you could not understand
No, No this is not a spring song
Not even a fairytale

An exclusive secret,
a pain which originates within a love,
reverberates with the rebel song,
within your known sky, wind

Naturally has seen in dreams
Rarely meets with the real
Crops of thousand wishes,
As the Vinci's Mona Lisa

Truly forms in nature
which has a vitreous luster
As the Crystal of Sapphire blue
where the beauty beyond

Of the words mystery unveiled,
yet the fascination of the Poe's uncovered poetry,
As the fathomless depth of Mid Atlantic ridge,
which goes a long way

Tastes like the first kisses of love
which is full of longing
where whole life is covered with dissatisfaction,  
within the prospect of ever known

Like an old wine
where levels of alcohol is too high
After spreeing over the night,
Still hanging in,
Even after taking the morning black coffee
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

.
..
The dream was broken in transit
with an ant's bite
thought,
the rest of the part in another night,
in another dream
but that didn't happen

Then one day
at the last bus of the night,
I saw her with someone
Not in a dream rather in the reality  

She got to the next stop
I called out,
She left with a mystic smile,
disappeared within the shadows

Then  didn't go anymore
I missed the bus or the bus left me  
Either couldn't went back to home
Or not to go any other place in front  
.......

.
..
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

~
he who is a little ahead of his time
whose treasures of the words random
romanticism is in the blood, marrow,
his mood is as the autumn clouds

he who has lost his path within path
drowning with dreams, sunk you within dreams  
again holds thousands of lost dreams
fly the colorful kites in the blue sky

he who hide within himself
**** in his naked poetry
In forms humorous,harmonic  
as a portrait of the Vincent's starry night

he is a pilgrim who has lost himself within spirituality  
holds everything with the love  
who is for everybody so everybody is for him
But in fact there is nothing in all his

he who is simple straight as the waterfall
when in complex grew hard stone
who broke rules for building rules,
knows himself within the other life

whose words never be end
again he moves on and on
who laughs in the moonlight
again swept in pain without thinking any gain

who looks the life
as a grain of sand
and see the sign of love
in the footprint of a fossil

he who is a poet -
~

Do you ponder this life
The meaning of it all
Why we exist to suffer
I do, I always have to

The pain of going on
Dragging through day by day
Wondering does it improve
Will hope come to rescue me

But alas, here I will write
My healing, my feeling
Through the darkest, to the light
Just a poet, nothing more