I gave you the pages
Of my life..
But you ripped them of,
when I expected it to
Be written in your love..

I glued those pages again
And gave it to you once more..
You scribbled it up..
With harsh words..
And made it more worse..

I again made an attempt..
To give you more beautiful ones..
But this time..
I am grateful that you
Didn't tear it apart..
Nor scribbled it up..
But instead..
Wrote your hatred in it..
And returned it to me...

Now
My life endures..
As remains of your hatred..
The glued and patched up pages..
Remain incomplete..
I would hardly burn up this book..
Of my life..
'Cause this book..
Is still the favourite of some..
For the sake of the dearest..
I spare myself..

I would have been happier..
If I got another book..
Of my life..
And give it to someone..
Who could beautifully imprint...
With the inks of love..
And make the pages complete..
And beautiful...

But I am sure..
You would come again...
To tear it off..
And end it forever..
Because you can't bear to see the
The happiness in me..
And
The smile I have....