Sometime I feel, Why can’t I speak, of the sky and the worlds that I see Perhaps my words are as little as me. I see oceans so deep, filled with broken people’s love weep; Clouds so dark because of the rain that break their heart; A flying ship, stars that can shoot, Perhaps my life is best spent astute. I see vast blue skies, blue due to million spoken lies; Poor planets cries in form of rains, for the moon when his/her heart pains; but they heals with dry eyes and their rings again spin, Perhaps my patience runs thin. I see flow of God’s art, art that can rip your heart apart; Sparks so tiny, Engulfing a forest into flames huge and shiny; A foes that can fry, friends that can fight, Perhaps my waifs never outlast after night. I see a seeming sad, silent moan, inside holding a mighty teary cyclone; Waves rising so high, just to last for a minute before they die; but tonight I speak, and writes this rejected bleak, because the dark-space is nigh,...