Many a days I wanted to touch the moon
I bragged to some unconscious desires
As a glutton does empty his dishes, I was hungry
And nature manufactured all my heart.
First I fell in love which was beyond my pray,
Still, I took it as covered by some protective dews
Which, by now, although has turned to ice
And can't guide my sentiment.
Some colds, yet, has come between the lines;
I try, but daunted by some prohibitions I fail.
She came twice my home and I did not deny
Then, what mystic pulses did it unopine, I know not-
She went away, I remained at my home, so all is changed.
So I take a way to inherit my love
I take poems which can bear all my pain and grief
Or, within which I can take some pleasure in pain
I'm still a man, I'm still a lover
But what I can't is to love
As my heart has turned to stone, and
I feel sore in some dependance on poems
Which, I think, may return my pleasure
In some gain,
Let it be fame or name
Let it be money or wealth.
Some say, 'You are same still now'
'You have the same, as if, to touch the moon again'.
I can't remain silent then,
I brag;
I say,
'I have those which none has,
I must live such a way which none found
I must touch,
I must touch it in some unconsciousness'.


02/03/2016