HiveComb

The lock too
Searches for the key of its love
As soon as it comes close to it
It can open all the knots of its mind
Look carefully at a closed house
The falling walls
The weeping voices of the parents
Who have died in the hope of their son's return
And the sad Rusted lock

The key that goes after tying the lock on some door
Does not give assurance of return
But still waiting for the key to return
The lock tied in love
The lock is patient
The key is fickle
Both have opposite qualities
Love goes on like this One ties it
The other happily
The broken lock on the wooden box amazes people

Is an object of ridicule
A thick and strong lock
Lies on the box
Broken a few feet from many places
But unaware of the world
The lock guards it vigilantly
Knows the value of mother's memories
The lock is made of iron
It can melt, it can break

The key has the secret of the lock
It can also open
The lock is not a sign of strength
It is an indicator of trust
As long as it is safe
It will not let the master's trust break
If only! If locks could speak,
they would tell countless sad stories of birds,
imprisoned in cages in closed houses