The little secret
Is up here
But the big secret
Is yet to come
So please wait
For the secret
Of mine and
His heart to
Open up

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When I close my eyes
And go to sleep
I dream
All good things
About you

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And the words
Were searching
For freedom
As it wanted
To be someone's
Independent thought

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And I m getting
Answers to everything
Very slowly
As I have a dream
Which is actually
Going to b true
Very soon

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Just take me
In your arms
And just breathe
Your love on me

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The sound of writing is audible
to the musician of words.
The smell of writing is felt
by the chef of sentence structures.
The picture of writing is seen
by the artist of paragraphs.
But the soul of writing is felt
only by the actors who enact
feelings from empty scripts.

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By Keeping words and thoughts
In the dessert
Where no one can reach it
It can never be independent thought
Or words in your lines...

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It's a bit much
Or little bit of good
But does anyone know
That bit in computers
Means binary digit number

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