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That rock of suicide That is located over there Will remain as is As long as no one tries to commit suicide anytime... All seasons come and go... People stare at the pretty sea from the top Of that pretty rock just to see those coming waves... The sun hugs both the pretty rock of suicide and That wonderful sea everyday... Changes happen only to those days, but Without critical changes to our dreams... We are all pretty lovers of those passing clouds Simply because they cross looking for a thirsty land... No critical changes happen to us Simply because we got stuck with our world's ugly circumstances... No one knows if those coming changes will be on the threshold Of those coming days anytime... There will be changes, but When? ! ______________________________________________________________________

Friday, September 26, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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