Because there were no valid reasons not to write poems at any time, that’s why they were first handwritten and eventually, typewritten.


Like any man making himself happy,
There is this lady who smiles crazily
To a picture perfect memory
That’s stored in a gallery.

I close my eyes
I see no lies
Something with no price
Like love tester rise
Up above touching skies.

My mind logs
Inside, your affection jogs
My inner goddess sags
Reminiscing your back hugs.


I keep spinning this pen
Until I found then
That even
I count one to ten
This warren
Is still barren
That nothing will happen
So then,
This mind screams of ‘when?’
Searching of days when
They don’t have to be stolen
And those days when
No one has to be broken


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