but you see -
she has
a tendency
to be silent
when it gets
real loud
inside her head.

You helped me
find myself,
You brought out
the best in me.
Now you say,
let it go.
This was never
meant to be.
How do I forget
what I know,
Or live for less
When I need more?

Lend me the fabric
of your tears today.
I will weave a tapestry
of undone dreams.
When you remember
To feel it's patterns,
The deep secrets,
Will be yours to seek.
Not words, not woes,
My hopes, I submit
Drink to it sometimes,
A tapestry.

The writer's table is vacant.
The Poet's papers fly amok.
The Painter's brush is stuck in hardened paint..
Pictures have been pulled down
and burnt with the fire of intolerance.
Theatres have been vandalised
and stages are silent, empty.
The jobless critic looks for a prey,
hence, there are fewer flies and mosquitoes

The point has been proved
You do we say, we say you do
for our feet are sticky with squishy remains
of pens and easels and words...
No songs will be written, no tales told
We live with fire, in fire, by fire
What else can we do but burn?
We equate Force with Peace, so,
Don't ask - where are the Artists?

The Artists are dead.

I will destroy you
In the most beautiful
Way possible
And when I leave
You will finally understand
Why storms
Are named after people