My heart seems tightened and heavy; is it coffee or love in the air?
Its sentimental mixed emotions seem to overflow engulfing all my consciousness.
What is wrong, soul, what is wrong? Why do you want to subject yourself
for another rendezvous of unmended heart or human scorn?
...
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Being watched, being caged, the poet in me is dying...... he has to breathe the romantic poetic air to thrive in writes I don't want to be a Gibran but something in between him and a monk I want to be a poet whose heart is pure but full of sentiments Lady, I am my own man, not your possession.