Letter to my dear love

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Beauty,true beauty,
It never really comes in one,
Thats what they all say,
And I know they are very wrong,
For I have seen divine beauty,
For that I have fallen in love,
Who knows true beauty,
Until you have truly seem it all?

Another letter I write for thee,
But my heart knows I shall never post it,
For this soul is shier than a drop of water,
That runs deep in the sea,
Carried by the hidden current,
Away from the naked eyes to see.

Maybe the time has come for me,
To tell you what I truly mean,
And it's you that I truly need,
But again I ain't no flower,
I don't really bloom,
But I am just a desert plant,
Not here to truly be a part of the show,
I am here to survive the bitter sun,
And maybe just move on one day,
At the very end of the play.

For I am not the lead actor,
In my very own play,
For I am just a bystander,
In my very own show,
Sometimes the tree,
Sometimes the moving grass,
I ain't no actor,
But maybe I am a potted plant,
Or maybe just a wallflower,
As I seem to see it all,
I see all,but I only see thee,
But again thou art the lead actress,
And thee has no time to stop,
And truly look around, and maybe smell the flower,
And maybe pluck it up, and just maybe talk to it of love.

My roots are lost,and I just seemed to hold on to this wall,
And hence I fear the mornings now,
For that is the time when the cold winds blow,
And maybe I will be swept alone,
But I don't want to leave,
Because that would mean ,
I can no longer see thine beauty,
And I have no idea was grieves me more,
No idea if I have a bigger grief than this thought.

I know beauty when I see it,
Not just the outer but also the core,
I really am very observant,
And I loved no-one more,
But I can never express it,
For tis soul is shy and even more still,
I don't want to risk being thrown away.

And thy would never stop thine acting,
In this thine old play,
For its your turn in the spotlight now,
And I know you would never go astray,
Not even a Preeti flower,
Would take you off the stage,
Cause why should a measley flower,
Ruin your entire may?
So I will just stay silent,
And let the very day,
Pass me by and like any other flower
I shall wither away,
But I shall wither,
With gladness in my eyes,
And perfect emptiness in my heart.

Oh what I would not give,
For a chance to talk with thee,
No not formal ones,but the ones lovers do,
I'd gladly talk the day away,
I'd tell thee about what I see,
And that I see it all,
The moon shining,
The stars twinkling,
The flowers blooming,
The things that I have figured,
The things that I have not,
And maybe even the way I live now,
But thee an a busy actress,
But again thee a charming one,
Maybe I can not open my lips,
When thee is close to me,
And thee is just playing thine part,
In this melancholic play,
And I have read the script that foretells,
Don't ask me how,
I have read every line,
And I have seen, that fate never lets us meet,
I have seen thine hero come and swoop thee off thy feet,
And leave this cold soul of mine,
In the darkness deep in the abyss,
For thee I shall stay a stranger,
For thee it seems I shall always be,
A flower on the wall.

Thee has an ending,
And ending fairer than this whole damn show,
For I know thee,as I have read thee,
And thy story I have foretold,
Thy will be a stuff of legends,
Often counted as a fairy tail,
As thy life has it all,the beginning a struggle,
And the way things go by, a wayward prince,
Who becomes a hero in thine eyes,
He even save thee a couple of times,
And as ye both ride towards the sunset,
With a bouquet in thine hands,
And a ring,slipped on thy fingers
With a smile in thy cheeks,
Miss, you shall live happily ever after.

And tis I have read,from the very draft,
Maybe the moon won't shine now,
But miss, it shall shine on thy day,
Time will feel slower,and I tell thee,
The moment will be ever prouder,
And the angels in heaven,
They shall sing ever louder,
As thee stands ever prouder.

But I won't bloom even then,
I will just observe,
That's the part that fate had me play,
And maybe I can shed a tear,
As I see thee part,
And the curtains are drawn,
And I die a lonely man,
The same way I have lived,
Which just wasn't in the very plan,
My life turned to waste,
But I tell thee it's not,
Rather it's a beautiful lie
That I am glad to live on,
For there is no better way to pass the Time,
Than to see thee smile,
My heart it seems,
Has learned to rejoice,
In some other beings voice,
And there I think,
I have found my joy.

But miss I'd be very glad,
If thee could just stop by,
For a cup of tea and a chat.

The Dead Revolutionary

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