If I leave my pen to write whatever it wants
I just don't know what it's to pen
O! those memories of pain, anguish, and sorrow
When I will shed tears alone in the bathroom
When your reminiscence becomes a pulse to me
Those stounds when we were like little doves, holding hands to stroll the aisle,
Or taking you round the beach in my back
Those moments of joy that made me forget myself
O! Those times I secretly commits acts of sin
Those things I myself was ashamed of
How stupid I could be to do such things?
O! My pen, be gentle to me.
© Yasir Iliyas Sulaiman