No regret , no descent of gloomy drop from eyes and no pain in heart for falling for a man dressed in courage.

No shivering in hands for emptying all those love poetries into trash which unknowingly embraced a spineless in the ****.

Flowers of love and trust , though , trampled but I am still a flower who is yet to be wilted !

Somewhere out there in the  imagination:

Roams a smiling fool many called Rose
Who was too fond of living to believe any
of their heavy words carelessly thrown    .

Spending his years traveling through
collected winds and holicly written
predicates onto bank receipt papers        .

Who didn’t need a heritage or a name
to remember to live again among
The scattered rushes and highways        .

and only the trees understood him
And his undying need to grow shapes
and shadows from nothing                        .  

Somewhere out there in the dozens of
breaking lilacs that speak in silence    
lives a smiling fool called Rose               .

In the middle of the windstorm
You didn't hear the roar
That thundered out across the sky

In the middle of the windstorm
You didn't see the fire
That spewed forth upon the ground

In the middle of the windstorm
You didn't feel yourself burn
Caught in the eye of the inferno

As the world incinerates to ash
Know the seeds you planted
May finally have the warmth to grow

your voice is slowly fading
your words too far
to remember clearly
but the discussion between
your fingertips
and my skin,
still blazes wildly
keeping me up at night
like a moth to a flame.