A poem

or maybe
Someday I’ll write
A poem, bitter
You’ll clap your hands
and it ends there
You would still bite your lips
And suck the blood dry
When someone takes a life
To call it fate
Or maybe
I’ll write one more piece
When a girl went out at night
Few will talk and
Others will listen and nod their empty heads
Autumn will come again
and the child would continue to cry
For little love he doesn’t even know of
He is deprived
This time , someone will
Make a song out of it
And colour it with tunes
I’ll paint , as I can choose
Of love that misunderstood of lust
Of downfall of emotions
Once even I owned
Maybe tragic will love to grow
Over the bed of butterflies that never came out of their cocoon
And some carcass of happiness
That’s left


How can I face someone

Who reminds me of

My unworthiness