to those lovers I did not love

to those with sad eyes

for which I no longer daydream

to the mouths that were once dry

and now are as thus they shall be

to the whispers I did not hear

and the touch, either warm or cold

to the heartbeats that were only fear

to Love, and its reputation to uphold

regret not! for the heart has

its own cunning curves;

and a moment is but a moment:

be it joy, be it lust.

and weep, yes, if you may

for the unwritten verses

for there is a time to say

and there is a time to shut

you see, friend, the world

is a pulsating force

and hence, there is no choice

other than pulsate and come and go

though exquisite song we were

so it is written, so it shall be done

for a bird must fly free, that is for sure

and one cannot love 

a love that is not their own.