Who is this girl, you do not write well, random rhymes,
Keep spelling wrong, you will give less poetry.
He doesn't listen to me.
Insist on writing with me, writing Rose Rose,
I'm afraid of it, he's not doing it right.
Does she know, as she writes, that everyone is chasing her?
He doesn't obey.
Well, tell me, should everyone be a poet in one house?
Let him move with a pen, sit and make tea.
To make tea, let's forget about the rhymes.
He's not catching it.
He thinks he will be a poet,
I'm thinking he'll be my picture.
There will be a picture frame, standing in front of the eyes.
I will write poems with the water of his mouth,
Write and tell him, what will I read?
He'll say,
I will tell him the poem of great times,
Tell him my love story.
No, he will be a poet.
Is he such a mad rabei?
Does he know my fears are elsewhere?
If he ever goes into the poetry field,
If the name is not deleted in that account?
If he told me then, I am now a poet.
Does he think that, when I write with his mouth water?
Does he not know, without his mouth, my poem is not?
Does he not know, if he is a poet, do not remember me?
Does he not know I don't want to lose him?
He knows he won't listen.
©latifur
L