Dusted off a yellow scrap
From the depth of time,
A line scribbled,
Each letter dipped in raw blood,
That's when I was mad.
Infatuation, they call it,
Feelings that pass of
When maturity beheads emotions,
Foolishness of youth
Flies away on wings of calculations!
After caressing the parchment,
I put it back to its own time,
Because it doesn't belong to now,
The first flutter of heart,
A flimsy fragile impractical thing,
A wound I still carry,
Falling and failing in first love!
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 6:03 AM UTC
Dusted off a yellow scrap
From the depth of time,
A line scribbled,
Each letter dipped in raw blood,
That's when I was mad.
Infatuation, they call it,
Feelings that pass of
When maturity beheads emotions,
Foolishness of youth
Flies away on wings of calculations!
After caressing the parchment,
I put it back to its own time,
Because it doesn't belong to now,
The first flutter of heart,
A flimsy fragile impractical thing,
A wound I still carry,
Falling and failing in first love!
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