Though I know your all rewords;
Still must express, like being the love birds.
The peripheral existence,
And the dexterity; that we have developed,
Dual insistence and persistence.
Love between two souls,
Is as dramatic as life;
While there are common goals,
Love is the fuel to cure all strife.
I grew-up thinking the materialistic;
Is the real of the worldly desires.
While every of the human and mystic;
Just running behind pseudo-real as triers.
Is 'she' the real or an imagination;
My real love or mindful aberration.
Who is 'she' ? an objective or an energy;
For me, the curiosity or the peace.
Imagination is the 'she', my target and synergy;
Now I got where 'she' is putting up; in ingenuity with unease.
She makes the future;
Becoming a teacher;
Develops good virtues;
Pouring her views.
She is tolerant;
She is reliant.
She is compassionate;
She is just great.
She shapes me up;
She shapes you up.
She is no other;
But the mother.
Do Ye Cogitate?
Do ye cogitate?
About the lugubrious face;
About beside unclean space.
About spontaneous childhood flight;
About angry nature's might.
About a greener pasture;
About a man of great stature.
About the moisture in old eyes;
About your injury, while mother cries.
About the soft music on the waters;
About bumble-bee unlocking the flowers.
About this whole story called the life;
About your inner versus outer strife.
Do ye really cogitate?