Dosti

Split twigs,

Make you wonder,

what are your worries?

what are your troubles?

What do they mean,

if the dearest feeling you know,

slips from underneath you,

split twigs,

plucked asunder.

A friend is precious, no?

He rests with you for a while,

but he will think of you,

through joy and strife.

That's why we make friends, no?

To think, to feel, and to share,

what we know is so personal otherwise.

Sit down. Tell me something. And then listen.

For that's why we meet, care and get up again.

You have a sad heart,

but don't you think his also pains,

when there're no jokes, pokes and silly smiles,

oh, see, isn't that a gloomy night.

Now what sort of a sleep is that?

The earplugs are awake and your mind is drifting,

didn't you just loved going to bed then?

With the thoughts of today's fresh talk and weather change.

They will come,

and they will go.

He will come,

and he will stay.

Friends are the currencies of life,

you lose one,

your mood is such a fight,

you happiness isn't perfect,

and your sadness doesn't feel right.

Let us slap,

and let us hit,

and don't you remember?

The deal we made,

doesn't let us quit.

You scream. I scream. We both scream.

Even if there's no ice cream.