When one just follows,
When one does dream,
And never realise,
When one does keep on coming back,
To beliefs and faces and hearts that never desire you,
Then one is a victim of his own self,
Not of pavilions.
How can one know the worth of a human,
Unless they never fail to access its value,
But what really is the true value of a human being?
Is it their sacrifices, their tears, their longing or simply their silent suffering,
I ponder over these thoughts, and draw my own conclusions,
That the heart knows the warmth of the compassion that it lends,
But sometimes humans, forget all,
Only because of one foolish mistake,
All is faded,
Of no use,
Anyone can have that place,
That can never be replaced by any human,
Worthless or worthy,
The heart never stops beating,
On the tender harp tunes of loved moments,
All other things are oblivious in front of love,
Which is the burning flame,
It has its reasons,
Reasons beyond logic and errs.
The flowers all bow down to the grace of the rose,
Not because it’s the gardener’s,
It’s truly the most fragrant and ecstatic in all the flower kingdom,
It’s why cause,
That even after it fades,
The memory of the hand that gave the rose,
Dear rose! may your fragrance always be scented even after you failed to bloom,
For people, to whom you once were given to.
Being a student of English literature,
One is often bedazzled by the tremendous power and play of words,
Words that have no impact when we study as a chore,
But as age ripens we do comprehend the glorious imprint,
It leaves on our minds and hearts.
The ebb and flow of those phrases,
Bring us to a world of constant pleasure and tremendous soothing.
Poetry, of the the masters,
Is a gift of wisdom and eternal passion,
For its readers,
One such poet is undoubtedly,
The ace master,
And the first introduction was the daffodils,
And how can one forget that timeless simple poem,
Dedicated to nature,
And gods glory.