A beautiful feeling called... LOVE...

Beware... of the ides of march

Beware of the ides of march...
says the soothsayer,
There is a foe hidden,
Inside the outer layer,
So many Brutus',
we have all around,
Who are vultures inside,
But dear they sound,
Stabbing in the back,
When chance they get,
And a wide grin on face,
No sign of regret,
And then they say,
For the general good,
But who knows the fact,
Who knows the truth,
Must everything be graded,
As wrong or right,
Must everything be left,
Without the least of fight,
Must betrayal be an option,
In friendship dear than blood,
Must valued trust be shed,
And mixed in mud,
For eyes that see beauty,
Forget the heart can be pure,
And the words so sweet,
Can be just to lure,
And if friends are made,
It should last till end,
And if that can't be kept,
Then don't call yourself a friend,
Coz betrayal is not an answer,
The purest hearts do pain,
It might not kill them,
But drown them in vain,
Coz when the back you stab,
It's the heart that suffers,
And it breaks down hope,
brings distrust in others,
For you were more
Like family we chose,
the pain was enough,
And my heartbeat froze,
For it's not the foes
They mean no good,
They don't give happiness,
But friends should,
When that friend stabs
And says he does care,
It kills the man,
Who made a friend so rare,
Rare to himcoz he made him his life,
And he never saw,
The hand that held the knife,
Sometimes being aloof
Is better than a painful end,
And it's better to make foes,
Than a foe, acting like a friend...