every book has its own story to tell. but ours are way behind the bookshelf; untouched, unread, and all dusty. its rotten roots had crumpled and seizes to the temptation of dying. yet, here i am, trying to find the perfect ink to fill this pen. if i try other inks, our story would smudge and would turn out to be messy. i would still try to write even though there are smudges all the way. i still try to pave the perfect story that you and i would find it interesting. and trying for you does not matter. so here we are— untouched, unread, and all dusty.

The moments of our love, when we were together,
How can you deny, to remember?
I still find those moments sometimes, scattered here & there, in my heart,
As I had a strong faith,that nothing could tear us apart!

My mind goes sometimes, upto those primeval days of our love,
When we used to have a talk of eyes,
And I could spend hours long, staring at your sweet smiles.
I do still remember, your face covered by shy,
But today, with a couple of tearful eyes,
I must bade you, a very Goodbye.

The day, my love was broken by cruel betray,
I lost the illumination of the life,
BY receiving that very precious gift of
'SILENT-GRIEF',
And found myself, standing on a mighty disbelief!
It was like a book, with no end,
As I lost you, perhaps forgood, my dear endeared!

I wish you to get the shine in life,
and may you receive the golden wings;
So you may fly to your dreams,
and get all the beautiful things.
I waited a long, to meet you again,
But, you were ready to fly,
So, allow me to wish you,
A VERY GOODBYE!