Adolescent age, the time of sprouting romances felt,
And on the walls of souls from heartfelt and soul-filled wrote,
Stories dipped in the inks of wishes, dreams, and hopes,
They all in unerasable colors united meanings of years to come.
Passion filled youth like lightning passed into achievements,
Then loses balanced life with a vengeance ununderstandable,
Meanings of many stories became prayers unanswered,
Hundreds of lines of verses soul in darkness kept.
I am the storyteller, I am the writer, I am the lost meaning,
Only confusions about one bright-lit story ageless remained,
Cover of that book held an image of your smile, my Little Boss*,
Though verses in it were written in the past from birth till now.
You listened, you read, you became the outsider, the insider,
You became storyteller as you are the story and you defined,
What is right and what is wrong and through it all decide,
The future of me as through all meanings you became me.
And the loveless world held miracle-less times in luxury,
Gamblers through their dices, magicians showed their tricks,
Good and Evil danced through it all undifferentiated,
Your one word of love will erase, the darkness of those unerasable.
*Please see blog post about this poem for an explanation.
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