the chinmay

Irony - Poem by the chinmay

When I am dead, my dearest sing no sad song for me,
As you-who are so beautiful, perfect, and adorable,
And I- so ugly, damaged and muddle,
You cry for me, who I am?
For you I am not more than a dud
You cry for me, no - no never my love it not suits your standard
If you wants to cry for the love happened between us in first sight
If wants to cry remembering our small fights
If you wants to cry memorising those days when you used to give me love letters,
STOP! These all now not matters,
As it was your cow love and childhood activity,
But now you are so intelligent with lots of maturity
You don't need to cry, my preety
And if you are flowing your tears on me for the sake of humidity
It also of no use, my cuteeeeee
Because the love for which I pined my whole life,
Don't give it to me after the end of my life,
So you have not any right to sing on my funeral,
Cause your arrows that Pierce my heart were brutal,
I know when I die everyone cuddle and cry with my corpse,
But you don't ever try to touch it,
And puts no single flower on my pit,
My soul feel more happy if you laugh on my death,
On my death day, I want to hear your gale of glee,
When I am dead, my dearest sing no sad song for me....

Topic(s) of this poem: love, sad love

Form: Stanza

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 28, 2016

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