I love a programmer
He is always there making codes
On different ways in order
To show how much he loves you so

There are times when he would
Just throw some complex hints at me
With utmost best I could
Try to find the meaning and see

See that maybe I'm right
With the theory that I have made
And maybe, just maybe
My words rhyme with what's in your head

But sometimes I want to
Just let go and then erase it
Sometimes I want you to
Be brave enough to just admit

That I'm something to you
Not a computer you play with
That your feelings are true
There's no condition that you need

I am afraid to feel
The tragic end of a sonnet
Where two lovers for real
Are mere strangers who'll never ever meet

Written by me,
Written to you,
Written for us –

I am your poetess,
You are my poem,
We are living poetry.

I am your pen,
You are my words,
We are an incomplete manuscript.

I am your ink,
You are my pages,
We are an unfinished book.

I am your vessel,
You are my essence,
We are an ongoing story.

I will not stop writing,
You will not stop inspiring,
We will not stop creating –

she was strong
an she was bold
her words were as
pure as gold
her skin was young
but her tongue
was wise
and her eyes
were as beautiful as the skies
she was strong
and she was bold
and words were as pure as gold.

There are birds on my porch,
small and cute,
they have brownish black feathers
with little beer bellies too.
All eating rice,
but some are fighting over one grain
even though there is enough for all
to eat more than ten times.

It exists within
             you and me.
But sometimes
             we lose sight of it.
Other times
             it's all we breath.