she said look at the moon
and he looked at her

and the moon asked
whose gonna see him now

when all lovers are busy
looking at each other

they are two
but moon is single

In shadows deep, where sorrows bloom,
A heartache lingers, a soul's dark tomb.
He asked me why I don't love myself,
Said, "I am tired of life, everyday."

A melancholy melody in the night,
Echoing woes, wrapped in pale moonlight.
His eyes, windows to a desolate sea,
Lost in the abyss of his own decree.

The world, a weight upon his soul,
Every step, an agonizing toll.
He questioned why self-love would stay,
In life's relentless, bleak ballet.

I spoke of dreams, like shattered glass,
Of moments gone, too fleet to grasp.
In the tapestry of time, threads fray,
A tired soul, in shadows, does sway.

Yet, in the weariness of his plea,
A symphony of sorrow, hauntingly free.
For love, a mirage in the distant mist,
A fragile hope, by pain kissed.

I painted verses in never ending rhymes,
Of beauty lost in the passage of time.
In nature's embrace, a mournful song,
Where the echoes of joy had grown strong.

"Embrace the self," I whispered, so frail,
In the silence, where heartbeats pale.
Life's weariness, an unending maze,
A tragic ballet, through sorrow's haze.

The soul whispers, the night descends,
A requiem for love, as darkness transcends.
He asked why I don't love myself,
I answered, "Dear friend, in sadness, delve."

In fairytales spun with threads of gold,
Fantasy weaves tales, but truth untold,
Dreams painted in hues of perfection,
Reality's absence, a cruel deception.

Characters clad in virtues so divine,
Yet life's complexities, they undermine,
For in the real world, shadows persist,
Fairytales evade truths that exist.

In castles tall, love's kiss breaks the spell,
But reality's truths, a harder sell,
In flawed hearts, love's journey is strife,
Fairytales deny the tumultuous life.

Happily ever after, a whimsical notion,
Life's challenges scorn such devotion,
For happiness waltzes with sorrow's song,
Fairytales mask the struggles lifelong.

So, I loathe the tales with happy endings,
Reality's narrative, it keeps transcending,
In life's tapestry, flaws are an art,
Fairytales, a facade, keeping us apart.

Beneath the blossoms of Sakura's grace,
Where petals dance in a delicate embrace,
I found myself under nature's sweet spree,
A moment that sparked a love so free.

Amidst the cherry blossoms, pink and white,
Our hearts entwined in the soft twilight,
Whispers of love, like a gentle breeze,
Caressed our souls under blooming trees.

In the garden of dreams, where passion sowed,
Love flourished, a tender seedling that glowed,
Underneath the petals, where dreams took flight,
Illuminated by the soft, ethereal light.

You, my dear, were the essence of spring,
A melody that made my heart sing,
Blossoms fell around us like confetti,
As we embraced the beauty of love's decree.

Through the open window, love wafted in,
Like the fragrance of flowers on the wind,
Inside my house, a garden of emotion,
Blossoming love, a sweet devotion.

Your laughter echoed like a songbird's call,
In the sanctuary of our love-filled hall,
As Sakura's magic touched our abode,
The walls whispered tales of a love bestowed.

So, under the Sakura, our love did bloom,
A vibrant tapestry in nature's grand room,
I ask you now, with a heart sincere,
Will you be my spring, year after year?

For as the blossoms fade and seasons turn,
Our love, like Sakura, will forever burn,
A timeless dance in the garden of fate,
Where our hearts entwine, in love's estate.

another
new year
yet i carry all the same
wounds and bruises

pain shows no mercy,
it treats you as an enemy
even when you are always holding
a first aid box–
to heals its wounds
it's like a snake biting you back

He claimed we were perfect rhymes, you see,
But he forgot, even in rhymes, there are categories.
In the sonnet of love, our lines entwined,
Yet labeled different, destinies maligned.


In the ballad of us, a melancholy refrain,
He missed the nuances, the subtlest pain.
Perfect rhymes, he said, a symphony sweet,
Yet our verses diverged, in sorrow's heartbeat.


As if in a villanelle, repeating our theme,
But the echoes of love weren't as they seemed.
Labeled apart, in the poetry of fate,
A somber truth, our love couldn't abate.


In the rhyme scheme of life, a dissonant chord,
Our love, once harmonious, now ignored.
He said we were perfect, a poetic crime,
Yet in reality, we were running out of rhyme.