What is it about destruction that you find unique?

We're a fading sound that will eventually blend in with the echo of the past.

May we all experience an unique, unrestricted dream of destiny in one another's poetry.

In the physical world, ideals don't exist.

You didn't treat me like a life partner. Instead, you treated me as if I were a model suitable for posing with you for a still photograph.

Life nowadays can be compared to a dish that smells amazing but tastes bland when you bite into it.

You will fabricate yourself if you don't believe in the truth.

Avoid touching or prodding anything; if you do, itchy life dust fragments will stick to your skin. Instead, veer over to the side

Every single word you said spun a web around my heart, trapping me to your whims. I'm like a spider trapped in its own web.

Neglect leads to agression.

Objects lure weak minds.
Strong minds are drawn to objectives.

Your poetic heart acts as a pacemaker for my slow-thumping heart. Keep your poetry alive, to keep me alive.

Hey, don't follow my trail as if I am the last trace of hope for you. Another, more ardent, has found me.

DNA defines
our unique identity.
Life's X and Y game!

The agony is terminable, but not the feelings created by it.

Love is life
Life isn't Love !

Images of Poverty depicted a simple and humble life.
Life in the images of wealth is ****** and arrogant.

My smile, which he wore on his face, hardly fitted him well, and it soon fell off, leaving him with a blank stare.

No one promises peace in our time. We are in conflict with everything including nature.

The stars' awareness of their brightness is analogous to a pearl lying in the ocean being conscious of its value on the land above.

When you left me, it was as if a beautiful painting had been stripped away from a wall.

Life is a poetic song with a common finale.

You might be multilingual

Yet, you always grin

in your mother tongue!

Oh stars, you shine brightly but lack heart; as a result, you keep a distance from one another.

Although we are not made of light, we are all connected by a common heart.

No no....
your unrequited love..
that isn't poetry.

You wilted because my love was tender.

Nothing has stayed with me as long as your last teary smile.

Your reactions are always like an oversized outfit, untidy yet lovely!

A good ruler is one who makes his subjects feel the presence of rules rather than ruler's presence.

I am a down sized universe.

What is left of me is your memories.
What is left with me is your memories.

Let me  be the serene pause between the two spoken words.
May my stillness serve  as a bridge, strong and secure, mending the frailties that words often suffer.

When an boxer dies
it's a self knock out.

How does a full moon have a full meaning for the renounced?

I got to work on a poem in the moonlight. I made notes on a piece of paper of everything that came to me. My cluttered mind was not satisfied, though. The paper was shredded by me. however, I was drawn to a single line on a piece of shredded paper that read as follows:
"Poetry has a consciousness of its own.
It will become apparent "
I zealously resumed writing.

Not giving back to others what you have received from them.

Impromptu destiny. Life revels in tradeoffs.

Silence has victims.

Silence is gratitude.

His greatness stemmed from his willingness to put his life as a collateral for the sake of his fellow humans.

All intrusive thoughts about you were merely guests in my mind.

Everything could've been different.
If the mindset of today existed back then.

One who seeks for his guru's origins never receives wisdom from him, but instead discovers a shambolic tale about his ancestors.

Sadly, poetry always follows me around like a debt collector. I scribble a line or two here and there out of sheer desperation to divert its constant attention from me.

Your memories expand in my heart as I listen to your music.

Remembering rains evokes
memories of my efforts to
stop it from overwhelming me
with a broken umbrella.

Life is so miserable that we often feel as though the sun rising and setting each day symbolises our birth and death for the day.

Are our faces all plastered with fake smiles? They have the same style and contour.