α
My past is so blotted & blotched,
Yet, I am living this moment.

Painful or not, it'd hardly matter,
Any luck with life, I miss daily,
I miss all my possibilities,
None have I achieved,
To time I put my ode,
Ever so desperately,
Dying will be easier.

Perhaps, I'd wait until my parents,
And then I shall embrace her,
Saying, “Sorry, I kept you longing,”
This time there is no guardian angel.
β

Our petrol sedan,
Looks so elegant and
Classy

Now running in its 7th year,
Still appears so new and
Sassy

Škoda its maker,
Runs on a VW engine and
Chassis

They dictate our lives,
How they are in space,
Exactly when we are born.

How they are in space,
Or the constellations,
When an individual is born.

Take it,
Or leave it.

It's your choice,
Be wise.

The absurdity of modern poets.
They don't use the rhyme scale,
But they use many cuss words.
And they think writing suchlike,
They look cooler than their peers.

They all have ostracized rhyming,
Poets, themselves they be calling...

The F-words aplenty they use,
And they think they look cool...

Rescue the language if possible,
Listen to its cries, they are not bearable.

If you lost your feelings to the world's ways,
Then surely I don't look for your sympathy,
But there are few who understand,
I do look for their empathy,
And their kind words of advice.