Poems

Words are stamp of the time,

Stamps of emotions, blood
Little blue steps to the past
Going back, while looking
In your shiny eyes,
Poems are mysteries in fog
Pearl drops falling on the lake,
We are there, once upon a time
Swirling in a happy dance
And crying on the mud ways,
We are stamps with memories
Inside the field of forgetfulness.
We are immortal now,

Living in our poems...

© nina nour
--- June 014