Its my sweet-lipped Passion:Art that drives me up to invent new smiles of Beauty,my wings are torn,and still it flies in search of Beauty.

The lilac moon came high an altitude from mine to clasp its beauty,yet next to my bosom hide, lies she,like ten thousand silver moons illumine;and her soul’s music showered words as she spoke wide.

As I always mingle with you poesy,with a half lip of smile,my heart is so in frail and mind in ponder,without knowing how to Love you deeper,for what you gave me as another sun shine.

Solitude itself your happiness,when a train of some promised words break like beads from the Heart's decked chain.

The inner seas a sulky mind's being, a string of melancholy thoughts swing on its feeble waves:ebbing, ebbing, self ebbing, as how a poet learns himself to wan, until its new bending ,departs to kiss the mirrored shores.

Now the poet has to embrace his destined sadness in life,by entering into this ecstatic world of imagination to unroll the heart secrets with his muse,and to happily fulfill her musky moist dreams of Romance.

I have to be the man missing and musing much, love less and love breaking, hard times let me sleep a lonely man, worrying of building a love, may be fire to soul and ablaze high, for knowledge still loving the world of wonders!

Ah thrills of my soul is not yet perished,for a flame aglow its spirit of thoughts,and my words will garland the most admired beauty of both seen and the unseen hearts.

What if love has its secret thoughts,of tight emotions,the mystic sacrifices—and suicides and bare forlornness,the fright and tenderness on young, unripened faces.