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"Who do you write for?"
Someone asked.
I wasn't into writing, before.
Let alone write a metaphor.
I've been practicing writing,
But words I've seen are underestimating.
Underestimating the beauty, you hold.
The beauty of which, perhaps, no words can behold.
"Who do you write for?"
Someone asked.
"I write for him,
Whom words cannot reach by the brim.
For him, who has such captivating eyes
Of which, within, I can see the hopeful skies.
For him, who still tries
No matter how much he cries.
For him, whom will soon, rise,
Away from the dejected sighs.
For him, whom I've fallen for,
Deeper than what I swore."
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