I want you to know few things.

I want you to know few things.

That if I look through the glass of my window

the birds are singing in those tall mahogany trees

bouncing full with the swing of spring

and this ain't the thing that keeps me staring but that long stretching road which

once used to lead your steps down for you to see me.

That if I look up in the open sky at the peculiar noon hour

(for hours melt into seconds in love and I don't keep the track of time)

the azure serene sky is stretching up to nowhere

and this ain't the thing that keeps me wondering but your

images dismantling themselves (with those splitting fuzzy cloud) and shocking me; awing me in a weird norm.

That if I lie in my bed as if I had been as such for years

(for hours can stretch into years as well in love)

then know it dear, that I ain't dreaming about you,

nor about the days of my glory that shall come

but the thing that keeps my eyes shut is the fear to face my days marred with your ghastly wisdom.

That if I fake the ugly (not genuine) smiles at times

loud hints of happiness evolve with milder shades in your face

(I can see it all clear dear) then think not that you were verily true

and I couldn't help but affirm to your acts

but the thing that keeps my lips stretching is I'm often condemned to have a fatal smile; thought it would kill you (and then I would kill myself).