Enclosed is beauty in the bud before it blooms;
enclosed is me, in the silence of the room.
Being inexpressible and inside the cover is my forte;
need nothing less, nothing more than a cup of latte.
There stands green hitting the core of my eye;
playing the best assistant in clearing the blurs of lies.
My vocabulary is lacking when it comes to me;
I’ve never put a rule on my pen, let it glide free.
My emotions pour leaving the impression of verses on this paper;
think the power and freedom to move like vapor.
Never have I ever got someone who listens;
reading my once-written lines is enough for my eyes to glisten.
No! It’s not the case of fear of hiding in my gear;
not the show of tear just for something mere.
The gleeful me experienced a lot of sudden;
the situation a lot taught, in burden.
Covered was me, like the one-sided love for one and all;
hidden was me, like the ants in the cracks of the wall.
There’s nothing to express now, as I’m back into my cover;
all that I wrote was when I was out, not in search of a lover but to my cover.
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