Had He Known It's Strange From Outside Poem by Monsur Titilope

Had he known it's strange from outside,
Would he have lent the amnion and stay eternal? ,
Where his nutriment sweeps through him in ease canal,
Sorrow nor felicity may not be part of the story to side.

Leaving for a shallow domain pledged with so-called Dreams,
He breathes harder and seeks hastily to fulfil his,
On this suppressed fate he treads the spiteful brims,
And every second all he told of his mind is to bliss.

Spring must blossom his days with blooming daffodils,
As summer should shower warmth rain to nourish his sprouts,
While crisp of golden grace enriches his autumnal deals,
But yet, green breeze of winter fume his wet flits.

His dreams must not be a barren plot,
Of no trees and shrubs to clench his earth of wishes,
His heart quakes and consumes of his greatest frights,
He learns lessons; makes bids and this is what he pushes.