26/05/2010 by Siddiqui Fayesal
I write a line, I write a rhyme.
I write for love, and,
I write for life.
I write the truth sometimes
Dressed as lies.
I write the world which
I write for tears
Of painful solitude.
I write for years
Of bearable pain.
I write of lovers
In the nude,
I write of moans
Whence they escape.
I write of mothers whose
When they heard their
I write of kings with fists of iron
Who beheaded men e’er they fail,
But to their death they wept when
The girl eloped with the stables maid.
I write of lovers reduced to ashes
Just to feel the warmth again.
I write of lovers who fight in parley.
And wonder long about their hate.
I write of tearful goodbyes,
I write of passionate hugs,
I write of leisurely strolls,
I write of love when sniffed like drugs.
I write of men for whom women die,
I write of women for whom men kill.
I write of misery laced with lust,
I write of girls who love cheap thrills.
I write of harlots with hearts of gold,
I write of wives in Shylocks role.
I write of love like the princely fables
Ran of old,
I write of love that awaits death.
So they don’t have to die alone.