Sonnet

She makes my heart beat like African drums.

Her voice persuades me like a siren would.

She is the bread for others are the crumbs.

Her eyes make me do things I never could.

Everyday its getting harder to hide.

She is a star and the world is her stage.

Her voice whispers the wind that makes me glide.

Lyricists fail to understand her phrase.

Only towards the moon my dreams are hurled.

We are parallel, set to never cross,

and we are both from two different worlds.

Eternal efforts are forever lost,

But I am optimistic till the end.

It is where my dreams will set to begin.