If my disappointment dressed in wrath,
It would rumble in hell-flames and chaos,
Reaching the gates of the seven heavens
Asking for justice with the blood of pathos.
All good feelings made out of nothing-
Just as the lightsome grab of a baby’s hand,
Or either heavy as a smile, making compliment-
Shall be enclosed far away of the worldly hell of pathos.
Since, the heavenly drops of happiness
Are drunk up by stone hearted human greyogles,
Playing hazardous games with my rare happiness,
And leaving me in a chaos-like hellfire with my dear pathos.