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My Creations

Love Birds

Though I know your all rewords;

           Still must express, like being the love birds.

The peripheral existence,

        And the dexterity; that we have developed, 

Dual insistence and persistence. 

Love between two souls,

         Is as dramatic as life;

While there are common goals,

         Love is the fuel to cure all strife. 




I grew-up thinking the materialistic;

           Is the real of the worldly desires.

While every of the human and mystic;

           Just running behind pseudo-real as triers.

Is 'she' the real or an imagination;

           My real love or mindful aberration.

Who is 'she' ? an objective or an energy;

           For me, the curiosity or the peace.

Imagination is the 'she', my target and synergy;

           Now I got where 'she' is putting up;  in ingenuity with unease.



The Mother

She makes the future;

                    Becoming a teacher;

Develops good virtues;

                   Pouring her views.


                             She is tolerant;

                    She is reliant.

                             She is compassionate;

                    She is just great.

She shapes me up;

                  She shapes you up.

She is no other;

                 But the mother.



Do Ye Cogitate?

Do ye cogitate?

About the lugubrious face;

                About beside unclean space.

About spontaneous childhood flight;

               About angry nature's might.

About a greener pasture;

               About a man of great stature.

About the moisture in old eyes;

                About your injury, while mother cries.

About the soft music on the waters;

                About bumble-bee unlocking the flowers.

About this whole story called the life;

                About your inner versus outer strife.

Do ye really cogitate?



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