Sometimes when I roll back
To read my poems there on
I can’t believe how I could
Write them in this horizon
Sometimes when I look back
To see yours so glinting face
I can’t believe that once you
Loved me leaving the race
Yet it is not your love but hate
That I appreciate truly at first
For it has become inspiration
Of my unending poetic thirst
A spark of your loving hatred
Keeps on my senses burning
And the smoke from my heart
Makes my thoughts churning
It’s not poetry drops of smoke
Which fall on to these papers
And color them that all think
I have some poetic tempers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful lines on poems... It’s not poetry drops of smoke Which fall on to these papers And color them that all think I have some poetic tempers Very true said, we come up with poem especially with some inspiration. Loved reading it.