is her favourite colour red?
Like a rose filled with passion and worth loving everyday
or she makes me bleed when I try to hold her
I notice that her hands are red
is it blood of her prior lover or just his kisses
can she ever be a rose of another colour
yellow, pink, white maybe? But then
If I held her then my blood would stain her beauty
now it blends in perfectly like a teardrop in rain
deeper the colour of her lips
for every stroke of petals she touches
but like wine for every passing year
she’ll just get better and better
is her favourite colour blue?
she brings my life out of the blue
like a sea I’ll never know everything about her
which makes me think all the time
and sometimes even dream about her
she is like a moon on a dark blue night
lighting up my life allowing me to see the stars
is her favourite colour green?
Like a leaf she inhales my sorrows and exhale love
she has the ability to change a simple caterpillar
into a colourful butterfly filled with so many colours
many of their names I don’t even know
every spring she is a new shade of green
watching her multiplying like hyacinth over my lake
is that all? No!
She might like white, pink or even exotics like gold
whatever she likes I know she will always colour up my life.

I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks now
my eyes are drier than driest deserts

I feel like a flower slowly losing my colour and petals
my ears long your laughs
which were never for my humour

like a night blooming cereus
mysterious, unique
and I am just a simple daisy
common, innocent

it’s just a crush they told
can a simple crush change me? No.
but true love can

he loved you for your beauty, who wouldn’t?
meanwhile I loved you for your real beauty

beauty that comes from the inside
like a honeybee I come to the smell of nectar
not to the deceiving colours

please come back
even if you don’t even acknowledge me
your face wakens a part which I never knew
and your smiles and laughs fuel it

all these fantasies breaking away with
every passing day without your presence

I don’t want it to end,
it is the only world in which I can feel love
and moreover where I can love you

Her hair’s dark, curled up in mystery.
Her heart — as pure as a kid’s.
Her smile: ineffable.
Her skin shines, even at night.

Her presence lifts the bluest rooms.
Her laughs echo, even in vacuum.
Her thoughts — like snow.
Her lips the perfect shade of pink.

Her kindness softens the hardest hearts.
Her fashion: glamorous.
Her eyes: amber.
Her voice — one of angels.

Her hugs are filled with warmth.
Her perfume, made of jasmines.
Her shadows — flowers bloom.
Her touch: exciting.
Her name? Unique.

She inhales hate, exhales love.
She is amazing, auspicious, addictive.
She is my food, my air, my reason to exist.
She doesn't know these.

I wake up to,
the cool wind that gently blows
as the fog hides the sun that glows.

I wake up to,
the smell of jasmine that blooms everyday
and to see the colourful flowers that never betray.

I wake up to,
the birds chirping,
to the leaves that sway like the girl I met the other day.

I wake up now to,
my beautiful girlfriend
whom even on her worst days
is no less than the most beautiful flowers.

I wake up to,
next to the most gorgeous girl,
to be with her the next life I shall pray.

I wake up to,
spread love, not hate.

I wake up to,
make the most of these beautiful days,
and to accept death is as crucial as birth.

I wake up to,
realise that all the drama shall play
but when comes the day,
we all shall lay in a grave.

She stands there laughing with her friends,
While I fantasise about her, as I read my books

I tracked the way to the station she gets off at,
I couldn't track a way to her heart

I thought love was like the colourful trees, the tall buildings.
That the metro passes through,
I forgot the slums and the tunnels.

Fate made us stand together once, time paused, the worry about my meetings lost,
I just stood there, in awe, looking at her, lost in her eyes.

Eventually, I learned that the girl in the metro had a guy,
And now comes my station forcing me to step out of the metro.

The real me flushed down the drain,
Now I'm a dead corpse chained to someone's dream.

For all the good deeds, the times I made them proud,
They repay me with hate.
I wish this wasn't the fate.

In a state where silence starts to speak,
And the mind is weak, and no one to seek.

To love or be loved—I don't know which is harder,
Neither me nor my words speak louder.

The desire to end it all overrides, Hope,
Love, and The meaning of life.

Even if I did end it all,
My death wouldn't gain as much attention as a single drop of rain.

My dead corpse wants to be alive again,
Just like hoping for rain on a peak summer day.

In the end,
My thoughts suicidal,
My body weak,
But with a little hope
Where someone's love on me shall leak.