My poems

 (｡♥‿♥｡)

My poems are priceless,

Each ounce of it,

For all of them hold,

What you can't see,

With those material eyes of yours,

Which are poor enough,

To adore,

Only the money,

Wrapped along with my words,

However a poem of mine,

Is one heavenly stuff,

Yes I fear you,

And others like you, too,

Of stealing my poems,

For what you see as bare words,

Are feelings,

Charred up with love,

And anxiety,

And grief,

They also hold,

The deceits,

From someone like you,

Poor ! I call them,

Poor to have no heart,

Or holding a heart to hurt,

Finding it difficult to stay true,

Lost in māyā,

And chakra of life,

Did some evil,

Doing more in disguise,

For evil brings more evil,

More battles you shall fight,

Oh no ! Not being the one who's true,

But being RAAVAN,

Consuming days in delight,

Showoffing what you don't have,

Not accepting what you do,

Poor human,

You're trapped,

You never knew,

More Karma is coming,

No,

Not to make you realise,

But to tell,

That doing little evil,

Won't suffice,

You're made to do more evil,

(｡♥‿♥｡)

And keep the Karma cycle alive,

Sins are forgiven,

Yet you're indebted to Krishna for lifes,

Ah! Poor human,

Realise !