He is my poetry I write him on a paper with the pen of my thaughts His looks work as a basic and his heart says it all His eyes are the magic and the voice is just mesmerizing He tastes like a ryhm and i want to collect them all the time I wish i could write him on a paper Because he is my only poetry
तुमने इतने उपवन तबाह कर डाले पर मेरे पते पर एक फूल तक ना भेजा? शायद तुम्हारे पैरों ने उन्हें कुचल डाला होगा या फ़िर मेरी जैसी ही किसी पागल की डायरी में पड़ा सूख रहा होगा... तुम्हारी शायरियों को पढ़ कर आँसुओं से सींचता जी रहा होगा... तुम्हारी बेहिसी को बड़े ही धोखे से छुपा रहा होगा.....
I used to describe him with the words tanggled in my poem with a hope that it will reach him as i thought he know himself But my poem was like a unknown letter on a shelf to him AND that letter is still waiting to disclose all its feelings in the exact way to him