My poetries fall on the piece of paper, with my emotions on it.
I’m becoming a poet with the flowing stretch, creating solivagant poetries with the universe,
sometimes I forgot the plot and break off from my terminus,
soaking my pillows in the dark, dissolving my pain full of poetries in it.
The poetry carried by my tears has verses unsaid. I owe the nights for being there for me,
preserving my sore ballads.
The verses of my poetries are the strings of sorrow, playing the woes of my life.
Stunning poetry by Urooma Niyaz
