It is 2 am in the morning,
I just ended a conversation with myself,
I put the clock four hours back so i may go back,
I am going back to the love and time,
When they say love is blind,
And when someone hugged you blindly,
Without even realising our opposite attraction,
I am wild,
I am nervous,
I was hugged by the travelers, of time and moments,
Bewildered I am,
I am bewildered
And I may be a poet of this century
Who is f*cking his life for nothing.
It is 3am in the morning,
And time passes when I write poems,
My poetry, my thoughts at night,
A thought that carries and feelings that are amazing,
I wish to pass my life, my mortal life,
A lie of regretting and repenting,
Or a dream coming true to the true lovers,
And the believers of an eternal shrine,
There are so many to learn, to know,
Like the mountains of Shinobi,
Or islands of many countries, many amicable things,
But what is there to know more than life?
Will you be born again?
I wish to lose my life,
Writing and losing my soul in the woods,
Not to the words that are not me.
I just ended a conversation with myself,
I put the clock four hours back so i may go back,
I am going back to the love and time,
When they say love is blind,
And when someone hugged you blindly,
Without even realising our opposite attraction,
I am wild,
I am nervous,
I was hugged by the travelers, of time and moments,
Bewildered I am,
There came the swings of drift,
I lack your memory that makes me realise,
It is late and I am alone with my sweet silence,
It is humming her beauty,
But she runs away with a gentleman who buys her garden,
Time collapses and misleads, ruining love,
And nature is corrupted with me,
I lack your memory that makes me realise,
It is late and I am alone with my sweet silence,
It is humming her beauty,
But she runs away with a gentleman who buys her garden,
Time collapses and misleads, ruining love,
And nature is corrupted with me,
I am bewildered
And I may be a poet of this century
Who is f*cking his life for nothing.
It is 3am in the morning,
And time passes when I write poems,
My poetry, my thoughts at night,
A thought that carries and feelings that are amazing,
I wish to pass my life, my mortal life,
A lie of regretting and repenting,
Or a dream coming true to the true lovers,
And the believers of an eternal shrine,
There are so many to learn, to know,
Like the mountains of Shinobi,
Or islands of many countries, many amicable things,
But what is there to know more than life?
Will you be born again?
I wish to lose my life,
Writing and losing my soul in the woods,
Not to the words that are not me.