Perhaps, Delusional

Sometimes, I hate how haunted I am by you

There's a poem of your love confessing straight to my face

But no,

the poet's not you,

for the hundredth times, it's not you

Is this what they called delusional?

I swear,

you have carved your words even through the poets from hundred years ago

And I am haunted

Perhaps, 

Delusional,

Tell me

Or I will always believe,

that lie they put in my head,

That turns you and me to a beautiful tragic story

And perhaps, delusional is the heavenly path

The only choice to escape

that one tragic fate

Tell me

or

just leave me guessing 

how delusional I could be

Then we'll know 

which path is true heavenly

Tale from the Quiet Place

It was raining 

Early morning 

You took my hand

And led me to a quiet place,

That perhaps, artists would be so eager to paint

Your eyes were searching 

As if looking for a specific scent

I saw the longing in your gaze

But you weren't looking my way

Yet, my eyes were glued on you like always

You look so passionately in love 

Then I saw you smile

Blooming lips like the flowers around

But you weren't looking my way

Why would you bring me to a euphoric place

If you would not dare look my way?

The answer unfolds when I stopped looking at you

And looked upon where your eyes land their gaze

My eyes got blurry, it was raining, early morning,

You are not fond of the rain,

Not even a morning person you explicitly claim

But here you are looking so passionately in love 

Eyes glued to the woman he loves

Brought me to a place where he can see her smile 

Where I am less than an inch away

Yet you never dared look my way

How cruel you are or her who also brought a guy that loves her