# Thunderous Chant #
If you finally see me
Are the tunes of love like the past?
Beautiful but sad
If you finally think of me
Are the love lyrics like longing?
Exciting but boring
And if you finally acknowledge me
Are love songs like time?
Eternal but false
Heart,
In the end we are just a roaring song
From the rain that didn't fall on the ground
poem 2#
# History Sheet #
I've just read a page of history, a record of the language of feelings that once spelled out laughter in the most beautiful smile of a heart that was blooming.
Hearts etched in the comments columns that are very wide immortalize the excitement, painting words like the feet of a child who is easily tiptoeing across the future.
My legs are now lying stiff, unable to express my longing in my rooms which are crowded with ghosts
Regarding the history page that I had finished reading, my memory flew to the message left by the poem shortly before he was kidnapped by meaning
"Write me in your mother tongue, but don't make love as an addiction; because it's not necessarily the heart that falls, it could be diction that is undermined by one's own expectations."
So just as a message can make me survive; That's how the pages of (my) history are used to silence, shuddering at the parties that are often enticed by the times
thanksyou
