The Birthday Card
The birthday card and a rose lay silently,
On the dressing mirror.
Without an address or addressee,
Invoking melancholy and terror.
Now, the mind like a vessel of doubts,
Shouted at her in an unpleasant way.
She wept bitterly and mentioned,
"It's only for you dear, today's your birthday".
Remorseful, I thought to myself,
It's better to understand nothing,
Than trying to understand everything,