Don’t waste yourself on love’s cruel joke,
first, dig through the muck,
find the heart beneath the grime.
Got one ?
Are you sure ?
Fine i believe you.
If you got that thing called heart then,
loving someone could be a simple cigarette,
but you have got to know yourself before lighting up.
Wait what ?
What did you just say ??
Do i have any tips for you ?
Sure, i’ll give you one tip,
Practice dying few times before you step into it,
That’s it.
I know, i know what you will say now,
That, loneliness is loud,
As loud as trains passing,
thundering through dreams,
never stopping here.
That, each sunrise stings,
drowning in light,
chasing ghosts further,
into the haze.
I’m doing good so far describing it right ?
That, waiting becomes poetry,
Haha, but don’t get your hopes up,
not everyone can weave magic from despair.
So as I was saying…
Waiting turns into poetry,
words etched in dust,
each line a scar,
pain painted bright.
I myself,
waited a lifetime, like a candle in the dark,
One fine evening she came, igniting a spark.
As if she had never drifted from my shore,
Yet time carved wounds that whispered of more.
Love grows slowly,
like weeds through cracks,
defying the pavement,
love fights for breath.
Now go away,
I’m not a teacher,
Wait,
Then who am i ?
What is it that makes me, me !!
That’s the subject for another poem.
Oh ffs why are you still reading ?
I can’t reveal too much in one prose.