True love is fragile, love is truth and its flowing immaculate,
Knowledge of infinity is madness, infinity is a moment, bliss.
Mr. Bose is so morose only because he’s been cheated,
Mr. Bose offered a rose only to be defeated.
Alone in his visionary tower, he thinks of himself as Jesus Christ,
He’s bent like an embryo kissing a pillow,
Outside the sun spreads light, light, light.
“I am son of god , gifted and wasted,
The day lit, cold world puts me down,
The cool veil of night brings dreams like the phoenix,
(my only sin is to wish it wasn’t so)’’
As Mr. Bose judges and bleeds,
The birds above him orchestrate,
And the ants below him march, march, march., march
A child plays, he’s not insincere,
Pain is growth, masochism is stagnation,
As the clock keeps count to the drum solo,
That’s the sound of my pen as I write, write, write, write , write
A rose is beautiful, its absolute,
It needn’t be killed, purchased and possessed,
You simply become it as you inhale its love,
Flowing, flowing, flowing, flowing, flowing, flowing…
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