Don't weave on my skin,
As it has the node of buds in,
Weaving may be too cool,
When the buds start to sprawl,
Scribble on my screen,
The naughty look in your eyes,
Neatly modified to your whim,
You are I are made for fun,
When I hear your heart beat,
When I smell your arm pit,
When I am slipped on the road side,
When I am drowned in the wash basin,
When I am overcharged and feel the heat,
When I am out of charge and in dark,
When I am post and pre paid,
When I have no balance to touch your ears,
When I am slammed for no apparent reason,
I look at your face with tearless signals.
Interesting write. Makes me want to get rid of my phone. It like part of the body.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mobile phones have come to be a part of us of which you have given a good dig! ! Good! !