And for all the poignant poetries
Written under the moon.
The window pane knows the pain,
And the stars heard the fervent rains,
Of saline waters gushing into the eyes...
Of the one who lives in the bubble...
Looking outside through a clear lens,
Hoping someone will poke it,
Maybe cupid could arrow it,
But then, she'll just continue living in a bubble where everything is clear to see,
But inside is just a poignant poetry.