poem|Fire

Future looks at you from windows
What makes future smile but eyes,
Like the eagle while the prey it follows,
And a cheerful mouth who smiles;

Storms will come tomorrow
And there will be tears;
Sick minds reign and fears,
The sour taste of sorrow

Turn not your face to sallow
Gains not a little who tries;
Plant that burning faith in you
The one by which you rise

Words die when guns shout and hit
You have the golden gun,
Load my words in it,
And FIRE

Dedicated to Shereen
on behalf her support in my writings.

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