Indian people are very traditional,
Still they will move with the trend,
Few Indians will often be bipolar.

First they tickle you the hardest,
As bad to trickle down your tears,
Then they change all of a sudden.

Let their fickle-minds deceive you,
You let the sickle-minds hurt you,
Such examples are there but few.

Love  is  a  most   *foolish  emotion  used   to  *ones advantage

Tell yourself to breathe
as the stratosphere is falling,
imagining verses tumbling
midst downpours' dissension,
sans sentimentality's
         loquacious language,
and the land is left barren
    as verbosity disintegrates
and emotions wholly perish
    'neath fickle cloudbursts
               of poetry's extinction

There's a sting in my chest.
There's stiffness in my limbs.
There's a grimace on my face
I can't wipe clean.

How did you think this
Was going to happen,
Silly girl?
All it was, was a
Summer breeze.
Just like litter,
After all.

Please understand that
This sorrow is bitter
Yet brief,
And I will shake off
These idyllic whimsies
And fruitless endeavors
In search of a life
More savory in its rewards;
Shake off the numbness
In my fingertips to
Burrow them deep in the
Earth so that they draw
Energy to the very marrow
Of my bones.

For there is still
So much to learn
And so much to see
That fickle lapses
Of romance have no
Room to interfere.

And I will not be deterred.