Life is such a parodox
Its an oxymoron
Those who talk the least
Have the most to say
Those who feel the most
Cant even show it
Those who have the most to live
Want to die the most
Why is this so?
Why is it when i think
Often so deeply
That i cant explain
No matter how much
I want to do so
Its just all stuck
I think through things so much
But i can't explain my thoughts
They just stay stuck
Or come out stupid
Why cant i just talk?
Some people talk so much
And yet say so little
I have so much to say
Yet i talk so little
Life my dear friends
Is such a parodox

We
Poets
Are by far
The strangest ones
The ones who see rhyme
Where others just see pain
The ones who find darkness where
Others ignore it for the light
The ones who write unabashedly
And yet are still afraid to be themselves
The ones who are childlike in our intentions
But by far more mature in our thoughts and our means
We have to be this way, because being a poet
Is being strange and paradoxical, like life and death

Diamond is beautiful,
The moon is beautiful,
Sunrise is beautiful,
Yet there is something
missing from this world .

This world has been torn a part
by those who's only content with greed at heart.
Every living souls is now lost in the dawn of time,
busy with the tasks that never and will never be ended.

Look inside ,look around and look in the mirror
What you have seen is the only despair that bare by the youth .
Look up , look down , and tell the youth of today
what have you done to this magnificent world.

Everyday is a new beginning ,
yet you have only do as what you have did .

The youth today will ask of
What had happened to the trees?
What had happened to the sea?
What had happened to the beauty of this world?

The only regret of you could tell is
We were late to stop the things
that hit us with the speed only lighting.

Is this what it meant to be rich ?
To lose the nature and gain the green in your pocket.
Will the green in your pocket be enough ?

Dear you who are listening,
Let's be the change that the world needs,
Let's tell the story of the change to the youth,
Let's guide the youth to preserve what is still ours.

The lose of nature could be restore by our action today.
Let be not the nature have fallen .

However improbable
I like to think that the multiverse theory is true
That for every choice we made
there are versions of us who made different ones,
and that for every lost opportunity
there is a whole another universe where we took a chance
The paradox will never end
the parallels will never cross
But I like to think that
somewhere out there
no matter how unreachable
there is a version of me
that still has you.

A certain intangible
Remains to be unseen.
Too fast or, perhaps, too slow,
The want of spirit keen:
Eternal is the word -
That promise it assured.
Can more be sought to aid these woes?

Eternal is illusion:
A pond, upon obtrusion,
May try maintain its steady shape
But in the wake there lies
The high, the low inside
To permeate, disrupt, create:
Of what is made eternity
That's more than lack'd vitality?

At scratch, discern you’ll either win the duel or face defeat
Before you go the distance warrant you’re set to dust your feet
for when a cycle is heavily ridden it unquestionably must squeak
Afore you relish a plum you most probably will ascend her tree
so be sure you can swim before you plunge into the sea
as if you can’t you may lamentably pay very high a fee.
Even before you contemplate a “happily ever after’, a fairytale, a forever
tune your grip to clench the hot rod ‘for better for worse’
scorching of blessings in the moment and every awaiting curse
and also fine-tune your lips to never say never
Before you stir the limpid prepare to deal with every ripple
for you won’t march over mines unless you want to *******
before you poke the bear, beware of the wrath of forked flame
because when you blister, you’ll have you to gulp pain and blame
before you leave, truth and no lie you ought to explain why
and also be willing to say goodbye
for at times there’s no backtracking, before a tantalizing hegira you must be sure
don’t walk off to Medina when the Kaaba you seek is back in Mecca
and turn out to be the reason you’re judged a faker
since prior sailing they say, one must be ready to lose sight of the shore
before you route for emerald pastures, learn how to mow
don’t say “No” when you feel different, or yes for ‘No’
and ultimately, you must be ready to face the universe afore you speak.

She painted him a sky without seams
In the viscous darkness of disruptions
Slowed slurred by lullabies of suffering
She gave away to glorified night sanctified
Whilst the warmth of juxtaposition clings
Morning yawns in contiguity of his arms
Brutal destructive hurricane claimed her crown
He'd be the healer of pain crawling broken and shame
Trapped she struggled with some consecrate demons
Lifted up the smoke paradox from his mouldering mind
Written in the scriptures she is rain nestled in the clouds
Exculpated the gray prisoner he never took the blame