My heart is beating so for you
believe ne honey my love is true
What had i done not hate me please
eloquent you and your sweet English

you know what you told first
Give this rose to someone best
I am not wrong i chosen you
again I tell my love is true

Where we met at corner there
Fergusson-Modern one bus stop were
when you spoke one word so bold
and I was tried your hand to hold

What stroke of your sweet bright eyes
why not given that GOOD-LUCK prize
to win your grace I worked so heard
but why you turn and proved me bad

Where is your that fancy dress?
which give you round and rolling grace
I choose you for my red rose ;why?
your little height and sweetest shy

when you move ;why?your hidden soul
which time ?did you perform that role
only you and our Indian airs
how I tell you I love you dear

o dear show me that secret shine
In that many youth you are divine
I like your turning and rolling round
in your language one poetic sound

fear no more dear wait for year
coming soon i am in the name of dear
it nothing but the joy you seen
you know what that echoing shrill

I saw that air with rhyme rhythmic
don't  know what is the measure for it
I like you and your thiny lips
I was dreaming in the night of sleeps

What am I wrong ?really tell me
that smell I want and together we
not matter what rule and law
keep me with you or declare draw

what you like .......I know it
take care of yourself and on time  Eat
who was that one you moving around
wind was so cold on that ground

with whom your speaking I feel jealous
where are you in the sky;come to us
In my nation lush garden green
you get everything;what I captured in

o dear crazy wayward listen to mine
I never smile at others fairy shine
o honey I cant send you away
we make together our one way

happiness and pleasure will be there
I like your innocent face dear
your heart is like the deepest ocean
your sound rhythmic has special motion

It is not cross the limit of soul
you the soulmate I told you whole
I cant say more about your nature
like dancing peacocks reathers feature

my singing dove is waiting for you
your peaceful shadow -tell;how are you
how I say about my soul
wish to be your guard is my role

In the garden of coconut at evening
moving wind with yellow shining
wants you dear ;be the friend of mine
little stars of heaven its twinkling shine

don't change your friend for my heart
I'm  the one will ever your guard
I know why?your anger high
your tempered eyes give terrible joy

not matter anger it shows your beauty
your nose,lips hair looks  sweetly
you're the one who university queen
give me that your hidden unseen

no not why but you are the one
I like your speech and anger like sun
I wish to hold your hand quickly
heavenly little queen looks sweetly

come to me at list at last
if one break your heart so fast
not matter if this next seven birth
what is this earth;is it the worth?

this my love is paradise of love
messenger of peace my friend is dove
it is the one my immortal song
ever I love you,is fixed,not wrong

o sweet heart,dear listen to me
made for each other couple are we
what I say don't get bother
we have to take seven birth together

you and me were roses in first birth
you the bud I was flower on this earth
scent of love we had given to the world
and yet we loved till get to the old

In second time we became singing doves
day and night we live in love
fey free-in the sky with keeping peace
peaceful messenger really love this

you and me will  became the snake
we ran in the jungle and moved into lake
touching our body embraced each other
breathing closeness sleeped night together

At fourth time you the flame of fire
that was the time your wish so higher
in romance we spend each the time
your breathing air spoke rhythm and rhyme

Fifth birth must deep down in the sea
in that blue world what lovers would we
lush green surface had softy blue shine
nature of you was perfect divine

This is the sixth,you teacher ;student I
teach me poems of love,it need;why?
you teach that all what love you made
In the garden of banana we make our shade

At last we will die, leave this world
and beyond all this remains our love
Last seventh time we the stars in the sky
we'll blessings to the lovers with immortal joy.

~this is not an apology, although i owe you many. this is just a story, that will one day be little more than a fragment of a memory.~*

i heard heartbeats under water, and found myself fishing. there was light on a horizon, unmade. stifling change. you, on unimagined shorelines. there was wind through trees, boughs shaking: i, reflected in leaves tumbling. our paws, through leaf-litter and pure chance, met. we were ghosts, hopeless and beautiful.

     the waterline obliges & breathes, though. the walls are
       pristine, and all is coffee-stained and content.

so, an agonist's thoughts, the hands of fate's implausible existence, some ideal named virtue, laid out in beds of unsent letters, touched our lives for one turning moment. there, we were left to swim until we sank, and i drank cold water and thought of you and the sky, and how sometimes our hands are made to feel smaller when both the sun and the moon hang, on tiny strings, intersecting every six months or so.

                or how i could feel nothing had changed, or stayed the same.

     and my hands feel smaller by the day, as
       i watch shadows across the fractions
           of the moon; and guess at how you may
             feel the same, or if you look at all, or
                 what generates these soft mechanisms of hurt.

thus, we set out to measure the earth, one palm's-length at a time, and laugh and ache all the same. and once, you'd said, gently, that i was beautiful, and i got so frightened that i choked. i was so convinced that i'd hurt you. i was so convinced that i was worth so little, and that you'd figure it out. and maybe i did. and maybe you did.

       we sing songs in our heads all the time, though,
       recite one another's words in slow light. and i
       feel less like a ghost, as my shells shrink back
       onto me; but, there are still bits missing that
       branches tore away and sent to you, on the wind.
       we walk right-turning paths, and, as much as
       i try not to tie my footprints up, they remain
       cycles, dirt-trodden through patches of brush; and
       my soles stay as cut-up as my thoughts, and,
       out on endless concrete, i smile unconvincingly and
       squint, as to make out where or what to be.

                                               in dreams, i meet you out on the backfield.
                                        we sit on the fergusson intermediate driveway
                                          and exchange silences, eloquently. in dreams,
                                      we dance and kiss in the hallway and i stop and
                                            remember how nobody's wanted to kiss me
                                         for three years. in dreams, you are gone, out to
                                 sea, and i wonder if i thought this all up and wake,
                               to a dream, where my father is ill but won't admit it,
                                   and has cleaned the walls of the washroom. there,
                   i hide and feel hollow, so sure that nobody will notice; and
                                 realise that my father is always fine and maybe i'm
                                    the one that's ill. i hear your voice, through doors
                                     and halls and continents, and consider that there
                                       are unmeasurable aspects to our shorelines and
                                                             ­                                    psyches and
                                               how i managed to turn out to love you.
                             in dreams, i see my best friend, now not in quotation
                                       marks, and wake and feel stabbing pains in my
                                                chest; a star in the sky for each time i have
                                   crafted abandonment, until the night fills up with
                                        blinding light and, finally, i am clean and pure
                                                   and know nothing, save the warm lap of
                                                        dawn's­ reprieve at the window. i stay
                                                         in place, reeling and absurd
                                               motionless realities playing out on the end
                                                of each fingertip, with your blink-patterns
                                               sin­ging morse through my haze; the entire
                                                          ­ world, folding down to a cascade of
                                                   hurried cries from a small bird, losing its
                                                        nest in the glow. it spreads wings and
                                           claws out from my ribs, and heads north; this
                                                   small bird, called hope, cartwheeling out

                            *to the ends of the earth, where heaven is just
                         a sequence of your most beautiful memories, and
                                   there's you, angel on the oceanside,
                                      dancing within my last breath.