POETRY FOR U Gh

The forest speaks the language of tranquil  It's rift, weeds, leaves of creepings and trees  Have a terrain more real than steel.  The colour - green is grille in, and so serene  Much meant for a love seal  Imagined the middle of the sea.  It is a playground not only for cheetahs  But a world called ataraxy.  Weeds , leaves of creepings and trees  All tell no tail than peace,  Connoting a coherent whole  For all diverse hopes.  Yet, festering is bogging her down  By the human travailing clowns  Plundering her hedonic thrill  To an aging awkly quilt ; Immaterialised in her ethos  Of peaceful dialog,  To the scorching dessert home Soon to be lost by all. 

People go, here and there Parting dawns-in any where The day - here And the time - up Then, parting is up Sorrows burst, auras lost Tears flows in parting times All we do is lounge for more That's all we ever care For the love is all we ever share People go, here and there Yet parting sings It's timely songs None is bound to make a stay Seasons come Seasons go All for good is all we know Parting joy is all we seek But sorrow tear is all that flows Wordless - mute is all we are When seasons go Seasons 'll come, when All our loves ' ll gather around Once again

Our love is a curse ; Just as a forbidden pair. Bonded in the heavens Cursed by earthlings. Our love is a curse: Carried on my chest And you, on your breast Bound by the heavens Ruined by the spirits. It's a woe to my family A clue by your family Ensnared exactly One to the other. It's speaks of a Black sheep Bestowed By one to the other. A life for a life Your love is a Curse.

Ain't you my servant? Yes, you are Yet, you act bossy Mr Potbelly?. Tell me Tell me that, you ain't one - a civil servant as the teaching Pauper, Nor the pauperised nurse. Is not your monthly a whopping sum? Tell me then, why, you're so stuffed instead your colleagues? Did not you promised to protect my purse? : Yet, out of my purse you disburse as one who is boss ; Assenting to your whims. What tail is there for your whims? : Creating avenues for looting Flints ; When you promised leverage. Tell me, mr. Potbelly? Now, your disposition is parochialism When you promised altruism. So, when your forthcoming is short-lived ; Do not cry fowl of how your service is limited to have matched your goals.  Cause when the time is up : I'll be there ; And this time to make sure, You do not join the train with your looting flints , once again .

A cake of flour A cake of flour A cake of flour I loath A cake of flour A cake of flour A cake of flour I loath Three sheep Three sheep Three sheep I loath Three sheep Three sheep Three sheep I loath Four cattle Four cattle Four cattle I demand Four cattle Four cattle Four cattle I demand.

O my loving life Whence cometh myself From this daunting height? Reeking of this sight In memory delight. How sad my plight ? beholding  this terror Of loving one, and Married to the other. Saddened by the husbandman Be merry by the stranger-man. How cruel my contentions? How bad my affection? Played at, by my intentions With the husband man. What a genuine gift of uneasiness And peril to the self. When all that is in my want, All that is in my quest Is an unconditional joy And an overwhelmed laughter  Between son, the husbandman and self. Not the incessant weary cause to the self now,  Nor this turmoil within my self Can ease me of my drift. O My loving life Whence cometh my self From this daunting height Hmm. For whatever we sought (like apathy or libido) Outside the marriage home It's anxiety we end up to own.