Love comes in small batches of torn, crumpled papers stained with perseverance and midnight breakdowns Love comes in heavy bundles of endless calls for survival in a cutthroat jungle dressed as fondly romance Love comes in empty halls that keep the years and filled with unfillable spots donning its own light Love comes in crowded rooms through some piercing looks and warm breaths dictating the atmosphere (or utmost fear) Love comes in a cup of coffee that stirs the tranquility of a holiday morning until the last drop drips off from your second cup
The stars that you see are dead The sky you stare at does not lie Your eyes see the light's sparkle But not the years it travelled by You wish and hope for music You long for some sweet melody "The song needs your poetry" That is what was told to me But The song needs words I cannot weave My poetry is not the sword To the shield of your melody The stars do not shine at all And oceans do not have a line I could just write you a poem But I can never write you a song (Because suspicions and doubts always thrive on the surface)