In the city of rich persons,
Who were born with silver spoons in their mouth
Their houses were like a king's palace
Their wives wear gold neck- laces.
They spent money with both hands
For their hollow prestige and respect from mens
In that city of gold
There lived a poor poet
who loved rich girl.
Poet had nothing
but had pen, ink, papers and his feeling.
The girl looked like an angel
Her one smyle killed thousands
Her eyes blue more than sky
Her tears looked waterfall.
Poet always thought about her
His love crossed all borders
His every breath spoke her name
but she never felt same.
He wrote beautiful poems for her
He loved her like a mother
He couldn't dared to speak with her
As he knew the truth of life better.
One day he committed suicide
in his room's darkest side
Only poems were his memories
No one understood his love and feelings.