Life is incomplete
If it is defined as:
'Absent of poetry, and lack
Of feelings'.

We are characters of different
Stories,
The earth is the stage colored
With tears or gold,
We have been made.
This is a kind of book
And the author of its is the Almighty

Ujjal Mandal, India

On a spring morning the sweet
smell of newly clad blossoms
coated with dew and honey,
I saw a maiden tugging
a ivory comb through her long
and smooth tresses
beneath a tree;
I approached to her.
Oh, she was more florescent than the moon
of the night,
Flowers stoop to her beauty,
such beauty I never have seen nor
I felt before,
I agree to gobble up the poison
of her charm and daintiness.

A dry leave reminds us the past
glory of the tree,
in the same way a lonely heart
tells us the days of love full
of joy and happiness in the past.

Each night I say good night
to the moon,
and she comes to me in my dream
exploring her warm love,
but I can't feel her.

Today I am nameless,
but some day I'll bloom
being a flower.
I must give pleasure to eyes
tired and exhausted.

Ujjal Mandal, India

Pursue the beauty until
the ugliness leave you alone
and let you bloom
like a flower in the stone