Our Immature Love Is In Crisis, Belief Fallen Too Short Poem by Pijush Biswas

As immature fruits she allures
As if, over the hill of my mind wind blows
And my blue-eyed armour incurs
Flightily tension, or hardly allows
Itself to be at the love's brim;
So I could not but be in extreme whim.

Happy love is but a happy short life.
In depth of truth, or sign of dependance
Twin the lovers both pain and grief
And happiness returns in a chance;
And happy lovers both do weep
When lovers in belief tune deep.

Let me be thus, or take me thus
More or less I could have been her.
'Tis her immature aim into the fuss
Foil'd her intention to call me 'Dear';
Though, in belief, fallen too short
Must be lover every sort kind.