When you feel you've laughed enough
Laugh more.
When you feel you've done enough
Do more.
When you feel you've loved enough
Love more.
When you feel you've had enough
Live more.

Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell,
   Love visited a Grecian maid,
Till she disturbed the sacred spell,
   And woke to find her hopes betrayed.

But gentle sleep shall veil my sight,
   And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be,
When, in the visions of the night,
   Thou dost renew thy vows to me.

Then come to me in dreams, my love,
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

When I will embrace your chest by my chest at that time
You will comprehend how mature my love is
How lukewarm it is
When my lips dancing up and down will utter the word “love”
You will realize lips that never lie
How many drops of rainwater can make you soggy?
My one stroke of lip kiss can do more than that…
When you become the subject of my poem
My pen starts to dance like a new born baby does seeing his mother
My page is never touched by the vilest caterpillars
When they come to do the sting they find you are laughing in my poems………

In the summer
I stretch out on the shore
And think of you
Had I told the sea
What I felt for you,
It would have left its shores,
Its shells,
Its fish,
And followed me

I'd rather have the nightmares
I'd rather have the worst of dreams
Where demons dance through every thought
And adorn the sickest scenes

For the feeling of these silken sheets
Now fills me up with fear
'Cause I know that when I open my eyes
I still won't find you here

I fell in love with someone who couldn’t remember my Birthday.
I fell in love with someone who left the state for a month without telling me.
I fell in love with someone who didn’t believe in love.
I don’t believe in love either.
Now.
I fell for the man with the dark eyes and a carefree smile.
I fell for the flat foot, curly haired drunk.
Crackling voice chilled my bones.
Mother said I was too young to “know” to “understand”.
I agreed.
I was young.
This pain, however, did not come from being naive
of knowing when you’re falling for someone
who doesn’t believe in love.

He fell in love with me.
Hair brained, wide eyes. Me.
I wasn’t sure.
Surprise parties and kisses for my Birthdays.
Late night talks and late breakfasts.
He pleaded
and
I wasn’t in love.

For years, we let suffering gnaw away at our hearts
until we got really good at hiding it.
And instead
indulged in silent suffering
at going to pubs and clubs
and getting drunk
making out with random strangers
and being the life of the party
all the while
taking the label of a martyr
but claiming no glory.
We were instead
so completely devoid and empty inside
that our friends would see us as strangers
if they ever knew
how we really felt.

It's in the tense stillness

The quiet.

The beating of my heart in my chest,

So shaky and shallow.



It's the fist in the air,

The blood on my lip,

A red river down my face.



It's the shattering of a heart

Of innocence,

A trampled flower.



It's the thought

That just once



I'd hit back.