in the face of the lonely night
i cannot get myself to write
amidst numerous inspired attempts
on lamenting flowers, torn leaves
on autumn papers, strewn all over
fallen from a fruitless heart
through the moonlit air, i am watching-
lonely lillies floating by - sadly
in a gloomy pond of fleeting memories
i too am floating, lost like i am
when i am in your smile
with you in my thoughts i cannot sleep
much less get myself to write
i cannot get myself to write - everything is in a sweet mess
the face of the night looks like the sea, of love, as they say
and i am ready to fall into the lips of the sky
to drown myself in it
i sleep in the morning, when the stars are gone
and i am done wishing
and when the sky is grey, i am blue
you resemble the rain, but it is I
who falls over and over again... for you.
in a sweet mess it seems, that i am deeply stuck in
this poem has caught up with irony,
on the road opposite to what it seemed to be all about
i never wanted to write anyway
just tell you things, things
i (really) love (telling) you
Writing My Wrongs 
rr, bok, the masterpiece perfected each fragment of your poem..embraced each fallen emotion of this troubled thought..thanks rr.
bok, it has been an honor to be a friend of such thinker…filled with fragrant thoughts and respected reputation in his secret right..your the poet stuck in the silver fading armor searching for the forsaken war existing in his imaginary world..Every piece of your words give fuel to the stagnant flow of mobility in this poetic world..Gratitude extended to randolph ….
relax, simply break away until you are ready…
well said,