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Kozarev, you are like a summer's day:
Bright and brilliant; exotic and vibrant.
Smart and gallant; generous and elegant.
Our story is flickering like these smooth bushes
of May; ah, but why I saw thee not today,
I knew not why.
How could I dream of thee not?
Ah, my dreams are bad.
Nature hath probably cursed whom;
whenever they enter into my mind at night.
I hate their promises, and their tongues-
they are forever and ever slandering
my faith-by chanting about thy presence,
their mouths are fraught with lies;
leaning to me like those filthy, ungodly,
savagery; if I was to catch thee not-
why should have they insisted so?
I am jealous of those hidden faces, unknown
Behind thy walls, impatient to grasp thee
with a bite of lustful words, swearing at
thy benevolence, for I canst be more so,
and more generous than thou hath thought.
My blood boileth with sickly temperaments-
whenever I am bound to one thinking
Of thy prudence, and tactfulness
Towards the glamor of insipid dames.
My soul becomes problematic, and forested
in severed distraction and dismay
by averted lips of choking and gasping all day!
Ah, yes, suffrage shall be beneath my eyes,
until no more breath is perhaps to remain,
and only wreaths of crossness
Frantically treading about the paths
of my gouty lungs; wreaking away bit by bit
their brevity, washing off every virulent trace
of devotional identity, and gravity.
This is harassing me-the knowledge of
being unable to see thee once more,
this evening, perhaps-
and I am twisting and glaring at
these painful thoughts like a dream.
And you, you are-as the butterflies start to file
Out of their realms and into our world
You are just like their epic poems;
fruitful and delicious indeed-
but humble as those thorns,
smiling at the sun though wounded;
and laughing by the smallest of whose delight.
Kozarev, you are my man; and as you dance along
the gravel paths by handsome moonlight,
you are even more glittering than which;
and with thy stateliness
You will but own my heart once more,
lifting it up from every dim deprecation
and fruitless laudation it hath hitherto ventured into.
And I love thee and might just love thee more every day;
more than every promise my poems can say,
I adore thee and cannot live without thee
Swift and marvelous is my love,
blessed and ingenious as it shall ever be.
I love thee, Kozarev.
Obicham te.
Immortal.
Oh, yes, he is immortal.
Immortal in his youthfulness indeed!
He shall age and grow but never change;
he shall wane and wither just in pain!
Just like a stubborn day rainfall-
ah! which remains a thick stifling veil
to our young sky, and its starlights-
like a loyal fence and its old window;
sitting and hoping that endings shall never show
Yes, he shall but still look the same tomorrow.

Ah! In his silliness and bold playfulness,
he sometimes makes fun of his own madness,
with a conscience that somehow be rapid
and cheerful smiles so genuine and sweet.
Like a miracle in one dull puppet show
He canst list five jokes in a row!
But a certain poison is in his blood;
and unreachable thoughts forever colour his heart.
His youthful lips are full of secret tales;
and his white skin can at times be pale.
His stories are songs we've never sung
and his breaths are simply words to my poetic lungs.
With daring steps that this earth never fails
into the moors every morning he sails.
Once I found him behind the walls
among the long corridor of my halls.
With lightness he sounded plain but sure
Yet the cold outside made him obscure;
his purity was like a shadow of lightning
so calm but innocent and bewitching.
But as soon as gales wafted through the grass
He would once again; flock away into its mass.
Glee, glee, was what then astonished my poetry;
with tears and feelings that might have lit-
o, immortal man, I have only words to play with!

And ah! How once I startled him by my lover's name;
which he enquired more without any shame.
But envious was my heart's flame-
and delight was sadly never there to tame.
I ran, and ran away-without staring back at him,
no matter how absurd it'ght hath seemed!
With turmoils that were inside of me-
I clouded his picture once more,
stiffened by cries, but hated by my own delight-
scarred by lies, and loathed by very fright-
but now and then he would spring back into my steps,
demanding me to give what had been said away,
but I sped and hurried 'till he no more tapped,
and was turned aback and into his own day.
O, immortal man, please just forgive-o forgive me,
for I shalt have no more courage to face thee.

And lust, and love are but my forbidden triumph
Which he can only be see within my poems.
With his hands that shall stay awake forever-
and never age behind eternal rains and thunder;
to every single day he shall wake gladly in wonder.
Gazing through his very own unnatural universe
with holy regrets but intense admiration
But sadly his life might never be my verse;
neither his charms ever be my wifely laudation.
The fate of his might just not be my course;
and as how my being; is not his envied incarnation.

But blessings be with him, whoever's precious treasure
and be pains his heart shalt never endure.
O, immortal man, our paths are one, but never meet;
and forever are just enemies like coldness is to heat.
Again whenst I am to die I shalt remember thee;
for being more awesome than even the lake
and more delightful than any words canst take.
Ah! And thy silliness is one that makes thee so special
and even lighter than letters that hide behind the wall.
How thou would be one of my firsts to call!
Just like how thou art always immortal;
as thy portrait is eternally young and genial;
from which my pondering eyes shall never stir;
as whispers my human heart forever longs to hear.
Oh, I am destroyed!
My soul is in uncertainty; moving about has it been,
in awesome dreariness!
I hath been like this since yesterday afternoon,
and whenever I think of that scene again,
my soul blasts with fury;
as I am naturally entitled to no right to his love,
or whatever this yearning feeling is deemed to be called.
He who in nature now belongs to someone else;
cannot stop wander aimlessly the exiled layers of my mind;
how cruel!
This is absurd indeed!
For I had kept no such desires towards him since
the very outset; no movement of his startled my *****;
no shadows of him ever shrouded my mind!
But why should I feel this envy now?
This gritting pang of jealousy,
oh, how despicable to me!
To my elegant and eloquent ****** soul,
how detestable it hath been!
Yet its infamous flame would not just burneth away;
this agonizing envy, hatred for my frantically oppressed
passion, for my inability to seal it away, forever!
Oh, how I dread to even recall
the very mention of her name: the presence of
another female creature like me,
crowned in dull whiteness, blessed in stony praise and laudation,
yet cheeky in her own very world of mirth, charm, and
indulgence. Another venerable being loved, so entirely
loved, by his *****!
How cherished and fulfilled my love would be,
if that gift hath been bestowed onto me,
I that so tenderly long for his touch, just one small
look of admiration, and I would fly!
I who can love him more fervently, and ardently
nurse him in the wreaths of this murky winter,
in my mind is this
picturesque glance
of us relating stories to each other, of our distinct life
histories, in the brisk, glittering snowy evenings!
I who can gaze at his perfection from afar, and
would still shower him with my sweetest bliss of
happiness. My fabulous, precious treasure forever!
Yet how distant is he from me now, how unreachable!
What a fortunate woman, what a foolish wretch
I am, to long for this claimed treasure! What a
poignant mistake of mine, to recognise the flawlessness
of this prince just now; whilst I hath been chanced to know
him for a series of fortnights; how ill, narrow, and
imbecile I am! How unworthy I am of him! He is
everything, and hast everything already; in his little, yet
impeccable realm - alas, I am only to celebrate the
entirety of my poetry, nothing else! My words, that shoulder and
perseveringly witness all my unspoken love for him day and night.
Nevertheless I blest thee, my love, may my grace be
with thee, thou art the sole king to whom I am
mostly devoted! Thou art the embodiment, and the
completion of my ever wildest imagination, thou art
the vivid realisation of my solitary soul! Thou art the
secondeth half of my body, thou art my blood, and my very
truest womanly essence: thou art part of my all senses and the
whole of my being.
In my bones flow thy veins; their natural greenness
melt perfectly with my remote and lonely profusion. Thou art
the first man I hath loved sinceth my initial steps
onto this foreign region, thy smile is all brighter than a very
shimmer of truth. Our short meetings procure merriment, and
delight, in my life, in the worst times of my turmoil and
devastation. Thou hath made my study days - the
hectic ones, confined to the pale shades of my books
and their anxious words - sheer and jubilant. As
astonishing as it hath been, my heart gleamed and
glowed towards thee - oh, if only thou wert free,
to entwine thy love onto mine! I would never once
hesitate to return it, I would welcome it, rejoice in it,
the most yearned, longed, missed, and sought-after
present on this idle earth! Oh, how through these decent words
I wish thou could hear, and comprehend my deepest
feelings; I love thee, not, and no longer as how a
desirous tutee should look up to her guide; but as
how a woman is bound to sincerely love a man. My heart was
crafted for thee, I wasth born for thee, and in it does thee perfectly dwell; thy most
reliable source of love, dreams, and tenderest affection.
I love no-one else but thee.
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.
How can I love thee,
if thou art my enemy?
How can I love thee,
if thou art my agony?

I fancy my love is futile
I's lost in thee in one blink of the eye
'Twas a dull day with a tempest worried and grey
No charm as splendid as the salubrious May
Vanished worlds are real to me today

How can I love thee,
whilst I shine but wither in despair?
How can I love thee,
when the mist replaces the air?

O, I can't see thy face, o no!
I'm trapped in this ghastly limbo
I look askance at the angered sky
My voice is coarse my heart's empty
My songs are shy my chest is dry

How can I love thee,
with this guileless but wondrous intimation!
Heavens are our first but final destination
where love is a gift and a token of affection

How ill I am!
Wronged by my own love and longing
Whilst the grass is green and
the stars are twinkling
This bitter cold is my weeping

O promises! Why did thou fail my soul?
Thy tongue does but smell of foul
Kneel by me, I entreat!
You little lie that could only cheat!

O resentment! How sleepy is thy mind!
Now I the master demand, awake!
Yet show thy patience, relieve me from behind
Forget me not, for the world's sake!

O laughter! In thy severe idiocy
Rise from thy unsmart repose!
Retrace thy steps, enslave thy feet!
Bid yourself go; and find but a better, brighter rose!

Slaughter yourself, o infatuation,
I thy master insist, decay!
Set my grim heart in awesome daylight
Send my frosted feet onto liberation!

Flowers of the devil, flowers of laudation.
I believe in praise and its own strange admiration.
Yet my roams are no longer of importance;
but heave my senses from assault,
kiss, kiss myself away!

Still, my heart tastes like ******,
in its misery and pangs of silenced desperation.
O words, hinder me from the joy of anger,
defeat my thirst for blinded and serene assassination!

The gentle cry, the loss of hope
rings all over but shields us in vain:
As pale as the yellow falling rain to
heal my wounds, cure my lonely pain
This mounds of hate should remain;
Until my stern heart melts to love again.
Known stranger Mar 2016
Staring at the ceiling in the dark, with a  hope to see a view filled of stars. I've dived into dreams and drowned too deep that now its difficult even to differentiate between day and dark. I begin the story again today, even as the winter winds have been warning me on not to bring new bugs into my brain. Years of care was cursed by a single ring and now left me to find my own cure. 1

All the announced amendments altered already and that sunny warm day,was  when the rings were exchanged. My feet followed to a new home, found a new soul to share,  and a new person to live with.! Tears filled eyes but a hope for a better life. It was another moment when my parents smiled though i had tears dropping down.

Shining everyday in a new way, making every move a moment to memorize with love. We were singled out for laudation, as were pointed to be the best couple. I almost started to forget my home, my parents, my people, and my life, as the new life had not the better ones, but still could trivialize my past off my mind.


And one day everything changed, began phonation, and further filled odiousness, words crumpled and feelings grumbled, all our love and hatred jumbled, loath among us silently aligned to outburst, and with a sudden pounce all the pandemonium proliferated and conflicts growled.
"i never loved you actually, just was forced to" that words owned the same tears just as the ring did once. i know i couldn't reply, but i really wanted to.


pulled a bag to the shoulders, and lugging it out, i thought of all the smiles, and all the highness, that kept me blind throughout our relation, just a dangerous drug had dragged me inn, chopped me up into little pearl pieces and quaffed me up.  frustration frowned, pique at peeks, woes worsened, i couldn't resist and after great toil to control i throbbed my handbag against his head, running drops down my eyes still. He swept me off to the ground with a single slap, and recollected not to apologize but for another shot.


clutched my chin and spoke, warned that he would wing me to hell. clenched my neck and spoke, notified that i could be dead soon, seized my legs and spoke, leave me or leave your breath, and banged me down. Even before i hit the floor i knew, i can never imagine a life without him, a life without breathing would be preferable.


splash*
I was in my room, behind the metal bars, holding me from the rest of the prisoners. thinking of the day, i stabbed a knife against his heart, then i knew he would die, i felt the pain, my heart weighed high, but i also knew, that if i left him alive then at that moment, he would **** me, but i wanted to live, at least to let the world know that i can still stand, though i fell down, I've had enough zest to stand back.

his blood ran through my hands, eyes widened and drowned for the last time, breathing deep and deeper, mouth opened wide and wider trying to catch a breath, forgot to fight back so i fastened to faint down.

I did wake up at the hospital, with few police men around me guarding. They call me '308', I didn't knew back then, but what they meant was that I committed a ******. Recollection of memories started in my mind, yet i couldn't cry, as tear sacks emptied already, wasn't exactly fear but love,

Yes, love that hated myself, love that wanted him, love that loved him, love that wanted me dead, love that boosted pain, love that murmured death wishes, love that broke, love that stroke a mother on seeing her baby for the first time, love that hit a father on his daughters marriage event, love that waved a brother at the end of the game, love that brought mid night ice creams to a sister, love that now kept me in crying, weeping actually.

I screamed ******* the hospital bed, and was immediately tied to the metal bars attached to the bed, pain was all I could feel, love was still fading in from nowhere. I know I love him, I didn't have to prove it to the world, but I have to accept the bitter truth that I killed him with my ****** hands, and suddenly from the heavens, a wild laugh in the room broke my pain and silenced my tears, it took me long enough to realize, when the doctor said "Oneirophrenia", the laugh was mine, I was crying inside, but someone above me was laughing out to the world.

I didn't know what was happening, I was weeping still, but physically it was called laughter. Couple fortnights passed, and the judgement " seize until treated mental illness, by the Indian penal code 308 considering mental depression of the convict ".

Prison is nothing new, as my heart was seized long ago, when the knife pierced through his flesh, as well penetrated past my soul. Later few years, again a new brightness, a sunny day, a glittering sunlight filled my eyes, my parents took me home, and fed me all that I loved, they thought I've forgotten all my past, I'm a new man. But the truth there was no difference in me, I was weeping and still crying the same in me, but back then I was physically laughing and smiling as if everything were alright.

Years later again, a young boy visited me at the charity, where I now stay, after loosing my parents, and asked me if he can have my story narrated to him.
I warned him "its a sad one", he reassured that he can take it all, no matter how sad it goes by the end, and I began.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark, with a  hope to see a view filled of stars. I've dived into dreams and drowned too deep that now its difficult even to differentiate between day and dark. I begin the story again today, even as the winter winds have been warning me on not to bring new bugs into my brain. Years of care was cursed by a single ring and now left me to find my own cure. *2

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Kno­wn stranger❤
www.anoldstranger.wordpress.com
After hearing to her story I didn't know if I really had to rub my tears off my eyes, cuz' they were worth much more tears than I had. Her life however was not a great one, at least hope she has a happy ending...with smiles :)

www.anoldstranger.wordpress.com
Kupapa Aug 2022
Whatever life may not be
It may not be the lulling memories of an ardent book you read With the tender crackling whispers of the fireplace
It may never be the Implacable cold snow that morphs into beautiful fireflies at the edge of the dreamers Camelot
Neither get the laudation worth a king’s ransom as My eyes forever close to see your maddening smile
Whatever life may not be.......
It is felt...
Felt by the hot breath of the newborn you hold as you gently pat its wrinkly hair
Felt by the dry breath of the old lost in the rhythm of time
Felt by the incoherent scratches on a bench in a classroom beckoning to remember
Felt by the lonely footprints by the cliff you took
Felt by the misty tears on a letter  crumbled in the trash
Whatever life may not be.... it is felt

— The End —