The face of your cruelty
Opened all the pages of
Your book of the dusty
Corner sense of vision;
Some pages revealed
What a useless ,trash
Distant object I used
To be,for you;
Not one page said about
My true self which you
Never tried to see;
But the book was heavy
With tears and miseries
You gave me;
The first and last page,
Of memories was
However ,was torn and
Shredded into pieces;
Visible under the book;
Each piece had the stains
Of blood and moist with
Painful tears!!!
Poetry of a Bohemian 