Trees are not the soul of jungle
I’m in search of the soul
I go to the market
To sell myself
The undelivered notes of love
Are more valuable to me
Than thousand notes of currency
The misguided romantic
Finds a deserted temple
For eternal love-making
The perverse absence of God
Blossoms the fruits of longing
I search for empty nests
Where no bird lays eggs
An empty glass of wine
Is a proof enough
Of someone’s quenched thirst
The silence of lovers
Is the final exchange
Between two misguided romantics
They don’t look at each other
They look towards the fine line of
eternity
From their intended misguided angles
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