Who The Devil Is Alive Poem by Akhtar Jawad

Who drinks for pleasure,
I drink to get courage,
to sit with you,
and to see you.
And your lovely face,
when enters into wine,
it’s an enshrine,
in the temple of love,
where there are bells,
I get rid of the hells,
and when I drink,
you enter into me,
and the bells ring,
you come to my heart,
where there is a wound,
given by you,
and when the bells ring,
you so much cry,
that your tears,
wash my heart,
then again you leave,
and the wound is refreshed,
and when listen to the bells,
You come once again,
How long will it go?
I don’t know,
I think it will go on,
Until I am dead.

But what do you think?
Am I alive?
No sweetheart,
It’s not me,
It’s my dead body.
I don’t see anyone,
other than you,
I don’t listen to one,
other than you
I don’t talk anyone,
other than you,
I don’t exist,
If anyone exists,
It’s you in me.