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It was a cold night of a March.
Our world seemed like a butterfly.
born for a day of five hours.
That butterfly had a kingly life.
Though it had a short life-span.
Wishing these hours would go on for centuries.
At the top of the clouds the lovers were helpless.
Watching their desperate world,
With just a prayer of hugging forever in real.
When the repentance delete our sins,
It would be miracle to see our hands meet each other.
May be that day is to come soon.
On a morning or a noon.
When the God’s mercy opens its doors to us.
I wonder to see the day when our pains end.
I wonder if we see the day comes true
While swimming in this fantasy world.
How I wish to have a clue,
To see the shining clouds in blue.
A drop of hope remains in the sea.
Barriers are like floods.
Only hope is the God’s mercy.
Creatures would drown us in the seas.
While sighing in longing,
Our breathes melt the mountains.
Hearing your voice is my sun,my light
In the black colour of the night.
The joke of staying friends rivets our strong feelings.
How odd to see my hands and legs are tied in chains.
Taking you away to mountains is just a pleasant illusion.
I look for the keys to stop these pains.
It is a week ago before april rains,
In this cold night our souls and minds stay in fire.
We live in a fairy tale.
We write the best novel and poems.
The only proof of the word ‘peace’ is this cold night.
Are we living the real in the world of dreams?
Or the dreams in the world of real?
Your voice is the only cure in this silence.
The darkness is in rush,
To meet the bitter point of the day.
The hours are eager to catch the next day.
It has no intention to stay.
Why don’t the clocks hide their strikes?
Even if we hardly open our eyelids
We keep whispering our magic names.
We keep looking for a fountain to
Stop these flames.
As our lips smile our hearts weep.
On one side we warn the time to sleep,
On other side we mean staying some more.
We are hidden under the blankets
Whispering to stay some more.
It is over three,nearly four.
As our souls dance with each other
It is our bodies being tortured.
It is our love in the forbidden zone.
In the last cold days of march.
While the leaves are silent,the trees are asleep.
We keep whispering the sweetest word to each other.
All the lovers would be shocked to learn what love is.
The meaning of love would be more meaningful.
We would be writing the best poems
We would be writing the best novels.
The fake lovers would draw a lesson from us.
Our names would still be everlasting
At the top of our tongues.
Even if we take our weak breathes,
Our names would be sung by the birds
Of this cold night of March.
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