I fear, if this would be love,
There will may be pain with it.
The branches will may pierce within
The bloodless heart of fearless sin.
The chirp of Nightingale sounds sweet;
The droplets of rain and shining dew.
The countless stars of folded skies
Reveals happiness on ease of lies.
This is not the love I know,
Of fair princess and angels though.
Whose love is pure as crystal snow,
And her eyes so pours honeydew.
But life is not a fantasy
Like fairytales; filled with glee.
Where dragons prowl and castles still
And unread books of useless wills.
Life is but a truthful lie,
For demons who pretend to be shy.
For lovers who hunt for skins
And roses when buds they gin.
I write my rhyme for thee dear,
And on thy name my poem ends.
Though we can't be lovers true
But surely we are truest friends.
This rhyme must die with my death,
But thy name must be the eternal truth.
Every day must be clear, and every night be new
But who so ever love thee, may love thee true.
I do have this unfathomed fear,
Of loosing thee in the gust of lieu.
To protect thine each drop of tear,
I proclaim my love for thee my dear.
M.Saifuddin
©saifuddin
S