The world is a cycle of space
Which vanity holds together.
It’s a temporary place;
Everything shall subsist nether.
We are sure particles of shame.
One good kiss, smile and love
Will do well to write off the blame
After the certain shove.
We are paupers clad in rich attire,
Beautiful souls of frailty,
Bundle of fate burnt in lewd desire,
Emptiness and vanity.
We are fragile little things;
Everyone will vacate the state of being
Like the roses of the springs
And without the slightest proof of seeing.