Every year a spanking new spring comes to our doorstep to spellbind with its whiff,
So that the flop lovers can boost up their spirits, which were smash to smithereens,
By a golden haired gorgeous mistress, who act as if to be my privileged sweetheart?
Whose mirror like image I accompanied even to the most hostile places of romance.
But still there is no telltale sign of acceptance of this love that merely search,
For a shelter, in her sombre with a solitary legroom to get hold of the six worlds,
To transcend our hearts into the gargantuan sea of eternal space to carry out,
The oneness of inner self to formulate our love that will be immortal in this world,
Where every single entity becomes rancid with the gradual fester of time.
Apart from round the corner there are tons of rivals in this game of love,
Who contest between each other to triumph over their eventual endowment of love?
As throughout the game there can be only one champion and many losers,
And yet again it will me the loser who received naught just humiliation,
As no one loves me at all!