For everything,
there's a reason, as such, a time for birth and death. I just wonder what makes
my life so different. I lovely fail before love. Love for life, what art thy
shall remain until the last breath of my life! Romantically I would like to be
killed by the love I love, but I am not stupid enough to bury my precious life
for the love unloved. I drink wine and I have tasted almost all the precious of
them. I drink and I love, I love and I live, I live and I am loving it. I love
the mystic charms of life, the way it behaves, woos, and ravishes, what a piece
of romance. I always wanted to stop writing about love, but my love for my life
fails me and I write again! Life is such a wonderful gift I’ve ever had,
there's failure, success, love, rejection, smile, sadness, poverty, luxury,
silence, laughter, and many; but life remains as life itself. I am blessed!
PS: WINE IS A BOTTLED POETRY AND I AM A POET ARBITRARILY.
(A poem by Rafeeque Ahammad. Translated by Anand ) Stay with me at the hour of my last breath, Amassing the burning veracities of life, My Fingers are dead, Let them get ease by caressing you. Last molecules of my breath may cart thy fragrance. My love, let thy face plunge In the eyes of mine, never to be opened. Ears, no longer be opened for sounds, Be sealed with thy mellifluousness. Mind, burning with thoughts and memoir, Be filled with thy evergreen memories. Kisses-made scars on my lips, Heal in the sweet chants of thy name. Reminiscences of journey, Unto thee my love, my feet tranquil. That’s enough for me, Buried under the earth, I resurrect- Newborn leaves of grass.

hail to thy little keats, hail to thee!
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