And here life is at a turn,
It can talk to you.
It can ask for your wellness.
It can assure it's presence.
But, It cannot hear the melody of your voice.
Nor it can touch Thine face
To feel how tender it can be
To be next to thee.

Maybe this thing,
that life of mine
Is just a tattered way.
Has more blaze of truth
Or Maybe ways that has moist air,
The ways, so exciting to travel
Are unknown of my awaken nights.

Though, I do believe in God.
Still, this distance of your's
From me,
These ceasing sobs of
heartbeats,
Slowly walking poison within me.
The weakness of the softwood
Of my life's tree.
Weakness the round nodes,
That I every day tie-up,
And I find them loose, every night.

I continue
This merciless life,
Only
For the day, only for the reason,
In which I won't believe.
That one day,
you shall not be mine
Or you don't have a wish
To meet me at a turn,
As a soft wandering air
And hug me,
To take it all I carry all the time.