At first, remember how you promised?
It would be soft and tender,
A loving feeling to remember.

But, instead . . .

You made me feel like a whore,
My body laid out in front of your eyes to adore.
And I wondered how this could be,
We were finally together, you and me.

I was only a piece of flesh,
No loving thing,
And that was the night this angel was stripped of her wings.

You hurt me, caused pain
And what was I to gain?
This tiny life that is inside,
When I found out I could have died.

Something that once had the chance to be so sweet,
Turned out to be nothing to you but a piece of meat.
The pain I felt,
My heart you made melt.

This pain can never be recovered,
Because I will always have a reminder of my first lover.
Something he will not see for a while.
He does not know that we made a child.
May be I'm not Fine,

No One cares For Me
No One has Tears For Me,

No One Believes Me
Everyone says Leave Me,

If I ever Cry
No One Will Even ask Why?

And If I Ever Die
No One Will Cry,

No One Says Take Care
Everyone says I Don't Care,

When I need Someone For Myself
I Find No One For help,

I Don't Know Why?
Maybe Talking to Me they Feel Shy.

No One is Mine
Maybe I'm Not Fine
Tarasta Hai Ek Niwale Ko

Tu Na Mila To Mar Jaunga

Roz Kisi Ka Intezar Hota Hai

Wo Aati Hai Roz Meri Qabar Pe

Yeh Aankhen Khoon Royengi

Laga Kr Aag Sheher Ko

Mujhy Tum Yaad Aaty Ho

Phir December Lout Aaya Hai

Paas Hokar Bhi Duriyan Mehsus Kr Rhi Hn

Sookhy Paton Ki Tarha Bikhry Hain
You look so peaceful lying there ..
With your hands folded upon your chest..
You look like you are sleeping..
But you are at eternal rest..
So Long For Now. .
Not a hair out of place..
Your make-up nicely done..
A Beautifull smile upon your lips..
For now you are with Absalom..
When someone special passes on..
It does not mean they are gone..
Though they are no longer with us..
Their memory still lives on..
It hurts so much to lose a friend..
Especially one that is trustworthy and kind..
Nan Legge, you were that special friend..
A rare and special find..
Nan Legge, you will always be with me ..
In spirit and in mind. .
You will always have a special place in my heart ..
Forever until the end of time. Nan Legge, I will not say "Good-bye". .
This is not the end. So I will just say,
"So long...
" Until we meet again!
At First ..


At first, remember how you promised??
It would be soft and tender..
A loving feeling to remember...

But, instead . .

You made me feel like a whore..
My body laid out in front of your eyes to adore..
And I wondered how this could be..
We were finally together, you and me..

I was only a piece of flesh..
No loving thing..
And that was the night this angel was stripped of her wings..

You hurt me, caused pain ..
And what was I to gain??
This tiny life that is inside..
When I found out I could have died..

Something that once had the chance to be so sweet..
Turned out to be nothing to you but a piece of meat..
The pain I felt..
My heart you made melt..

This pain can never be recovered..
Because I will always have a reminder of my first lover...
Something he will not see for a while!
What Good Is Love!

I waited for your love in hope,
That ours would come again,
And make me feel the things I felt,
When we were one, back then.

But time and distance have erased,
The things I wished anew,
And now I find myself alone,
Though I am here with you.

What good is love, that does not touch,
What good is love, that gives you pain.
What good is love, that makes you run,
And makes you lost out in the rain.

I traveled to another world,
Out far beyond the one we knew,
I thought that I could live again,
And now I find I'm back with you.

But what of hearts that beat as one,
And what of passion and embrace,
Is it too much to ask of you,
To make these tears of mine erase.

What good is love, that does not touch,
What good is love, that gives you pain.
What good is love, that makes you run,
And makes you lost out in the rain.

Too painful this - to journey back,
To times of love and laughter free,
The times we lay together with
A sense of you , a sense of me.

So now, I journey on alone,
Forever wandering, in my thoughts,
And I shall ask you once again,
What good is love
Emptiness builds a home in this woman..
In this girl, this child where hollows have bred..
A deepening sea of nowhereness consumes..
And eats away at every Connecting thread

Confusion feeds like a savage inside her..
Leaving nothing considered worthy remains..
Destined to walk through life less ordinary..
Alone, exiled, different and disdained
Wanting,
lusting,
to be held,
to be loved,
to feel warmth,
to feel your beating heart.
Wanting to be sheltered from the cold,
heartless winds.
Falling into invisible arms;
into an abyss of love.
Wishing,
hoping,
that my desires will be filled;
my desires of loving warmth.
Wanting to be held,
comforted,
loved.
Dreaming of passionate embraces,
of tender kisses,
loving words,
romantic nights.
Waiting for undying love
Don't look a bit run-down,
Life has its ups and downs..

World is full of good and bad,
All are not foe, don't go mad..

Let's face the facts,
Things are not all cracked. .

Let's clean up our acts,
Don't stick to the facts..

Hey my dear! Don't be woeful,
With grief, life is meaningful..

In weeping we take refuge, tops,
Flowers freshened with dew drops. .

Life is a tale of woe,
Don't feel deep sorrow, .
Life has its own shadow,
Don't make it taboo. .

Too many are alone like you,
The many suffer wounds of time as you,
Don't feel deep sorrow,
Don't kick up a row.

Heaven is for us tomorrow,
See God, don't you know??


Leave the world up to God,
Pray for world side by side
In the corner ..

I stand in the corner ..

I lay in the shadows ..

I run I the night..

I scream at the moon..

Black and red ..

Purple and midnight..

Bluemidnight blue ..

Die die die die die..

I scream at the sky ..

I feel the pain..

Blood rushing down..

My wrists..

Stabbing pain in my..

Chest a hollow hearted..

Fellow I cant see through..

The fog a misty life..

I Live contemplating this..

Life I live..

See me stumbling..

On the path I try to walk..

In the corner I scream at..

Some one I think I see a ..

Stranger in the night..

Screaming in the light its over ..

bang he drops dead!
Everyone wants to hurt me..



I wish they could feel my pain..

and then maybe they would understand..

I dont know what to think..

I dont know what to do..

Everything seems so far away..

I am the outsider looking in..

watching life pass me by..

My heart is aching for someone to love me..

but I push everyone away..

I cant trust anyone..

because I know that I will get hurt in the end..

I am tired of trying..

I have nothing more to give..

I have given all of me..

but that still isnt enough..

I am a disappointment to everyone..

I am here for no reason..

My past is history..

My future is unclear..

and I am lost in the present
Forget all the things I should have said♥

I am nothing more then a little boy inside..

That cries out for attention..

Yet I always try to hide..

Because I talk to you like children..

Though I don't know how I feel..

But I know I'll do the right thing ..

If the right thing isn't feel.♥

Because it's always raining in my head..

Forget all the things I should have said
Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven’s blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,
My sudden adoration, my great love!
John Keat
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;
And seeing it asleep, so fled away,
Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day;
But to that second circle of sad Hell,
Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.


John Keats
Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes,
Nibble their toast, and cool their tea with sighs,
Or else forget the purpose of the night,
Forget their tea -- forget their appetite.
See with cross'd arms they sit -- ah! happy crew,
The fire is going out and no one rings
For coals, and therefore no coals Betty brings.
A fly is in the milk-pot -- must he die
By a humane society?
No, no; there Mr. Werter takes his spoon,
Inserts it, dips the handle, and lo! soon
The little straggler, sav'd from perils dark,
Across the teaboard draws a long wet mark.
Arise! take snuffers by the handle,
There's a large cauliflower in each candle.
A winding-sheet, ah me! I must away
To No. 7, just beyond the circus gay.
'Alas, my friend! your coat sits very well;
Where may your tailor live?' 'I may not tell.
O pardon me -- I'm absent now and then.
Where might my tailor live? I say again
I cannot tell, let me no more be teaz'd --
He lives in Wapping, might live where he pleas'd.'

John Keats
"Dark eyes are dearer far
Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell."

Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven,—the domain
Of Cynthia,—the wide palace of the sun,—
The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,—
The bosomer of clouds, gold, gray, and dun.
Blue! 'Tis the life of waters:—Ocean
And all its vassal streams, pools numberless,
May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can
Subside, if not to dark-blue nativeness.
Blue! gentle cousin of the forest-green,
Married to green in all the sweetest flowers—
Forget-me-not,—the blue-bell,—and, that queen
Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers
Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great,
When in an Eye thou art alive with fate!


John Keats
High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.

John Keats
Fill For Me A Brimming Bowl

Fill for me a brimming bowl
And in it let me drown my soul:
But put therein some drug, designed
To Banish Women from my mind:
For I want not the stream inspiring
That fills the mind with--fond desiring,
But I want as deep a draught
As e'er from Lethe's wave was quaff'd;
From my despairing heart to charm
The Image of the fairest form
That e'er my reveling eyes beheld,
That e'er my wandering fancy spell'd.
In vain! away I cannot chace
The melting softness of that face,
The beaminess of those bright eyes,
That breast--earth's only Paradise.
My sight will never more be blest;
For all I see has lost its zest:
Nor with delight can I explore,
The Classic page, or Muse's lore.
Had she but known how beat my heart,
And with one smile reliev'd its smart
I should have felt a sweet relief,
I should have felt ``the joy of grief.''
Yet as the Tuscan mid the snow
Of Lapland dreams on sweet Arno,
Even so for ever shall she be
The Halo of my Memory.
John Keats
Fill for me a brimming bowl
And in it let me drown my soul:
But put therein some drug, designed
To Banish Women from my mind:
For I want not the stream inspiring
That fills the mind with--fond desiring,
But I want as deep a draught
As e'er from Lethe's wave was quaff'd;
From my despairing heart to charm
The Image of the fairest form
That e'er my reveling eyes beheld,
That e'er my wandering fancy spell'd.
In vain! away I cannot chace
The melting softness of that face,
The beaminess of those bright eyes,
That breast--earth's only Paradise.
My sight will never more be blest;
For all I see has lost its zest:
Nor with delight can I explore,
The Classic page, or Muse's lore.
Had she but known how beat my heart,
And with one smile reliev'd its smart
I should have felt a sweet relief,
I should have felt ``the joy of grief.''
Yet as the Tuscan mid the snow
Of Lapland dreams on sweet Arno,
Even so for ever shall she be
The Halo of my Memory.

John Keats
Fragment Of

To-night I'll have my friar -- let me think
About my room, -- I'll have it in the pink;
It should be rich and sombre, and the moon,
Just in its mid-life in the midst of June,
Should look thro' four large windows and display
Clear, but for gold-fish vases in the way,
Their glassy diamonding on Turkish floor;
The tapers keep aside, an hour and more,
To see what else the moon alone can show;
While the night-breeze doth softly let us know
My terrace is well bower'd with oranges.
Upon the floor the dullest spirit sees
A guitar-ribband and a lady's glove
Beside a crumple-leaved tale of love;
A tambour-frame, with Venus sleeping there,
All finish'd but some ringlets of her hair;
A viol, bow-strings torn, cross-wise upon
A glorious folio of Anacreon;
A skull upon a mat of roses lying,
Ink'd purple with a song concerning dying;
An hour-glass on the turn, amid the trails
Of passion-flower; -- just in time there sails
A cloud across the moon, -- the lights bring in!
And see what more my phantasy can win.
It is a gorgeous room, but somewhat sad;
The draperies are so, as tho' they had
Been made for Cleopatra's winding-sheet;
And opposite the stedfast eye doth meet
A spacious looking-glass, upon whose face,
In letters raven-sombre, you may trace
Old 'Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin.'
Greek busts and statuary have ever been
Held, by the finest spirits, fitter far
Than vase grotesque and Siamesian jar;
Therefore 'tis sure a want of Attic taste
That I should rather love a Gothic waste
Of eyesight on cinque-coloured potter's clay,
Than on the marble fairness of old Greece.
My table-coverlits of Jason's fleece
And black Numidian sheep-wool should be wrought,
Gold, black, and heavy, from the Lama brought.
My ebon sofas should delicious be
With down from Leda's cygnet progeny.
My pictures all Salvator's, save a few
Of Titian's portraiture, and one, though new,
Of Haydon's in its fresh magnificence.
My wine -- O good! 'tis here at my desire,
And I must sit to supper with my friar.
John Keats

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