And now I know how Joan of Arc felt
Now I know how Joan of Arc felt
As the flames rose to her Roman nose
And her Walkman started to melt

Bigmouth
Bigmouth
Bigmouth strikes again
And I've got no right to take my place with the human race~

Circle CirCle  
          
          In

Circle circle

(At the centre Centre
The Centre Centre )

No at the FoCus
At FoCus
focus focus

.......

Or at the fence
Yes maybe

The fence
The fence
Fence maybe at it


No at the corner
Yes Corner -
The corner

The corner ?
The Corner


Where ?
.....
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find

Where is it ?

Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find

Maybe

In
Circle CirCle

       And

Circle CirCle


Yes where is it
Where is he
Where is me
Where am I
Why I am here

Why why
Why

At the centre
Why am In a ..

Why does every other poem is about love ?
Why it has to be a shared experience ?

Why does every other poet try to make it unique
Some of them, connect it to moon,
Some call themselves a Freak?
Why is it so different for everyone else?
For some it's an admire,
For some it's the beauty
Some feel connected
Some mark it as duty ,
Some see oceans in eyes
Others feel ocean while staring
And for some is the comfort
And others it's the safety
Some say it is compatibility
Others say it comes naturally
Or they feel it altogether
Or say they feel ever lively ?

(Like they are loving
Like no one loved
More than romeo
More than anyone )

sometimes
They show they don't need
the validation -
What the world feels
Even their love is a simple
Expression.

Why love is loved by everyone?

For Someone who is lost
In the love of anyone.

And still I wonder - why every poem is about love ?

You came into my life
(If it was a dream),

I was so happy —
Now that I had someone,
(Indeed, it was a dream).

I thought, at least I deserve love now,
But you told me to wait.
You told me to put all my sadness
Back into my mouth, chew it,
And embrace.

You made me promise to never cry over you —
But
What about the things I was already holding?
Do I have to cry over them again,
Like I used to?

Maybe...
Maybe it was too much —
To feel joy
Just from the idea
Of sharing my sadness with you,
Which I never got the chance to do.

Who?
Me? That's who I’m supposed to depend on?
I’ve already tried that.

You told me to wait,
And I will.
But who do I confide in?
Poetry?

...That’s what I thought of.

Stand
Sit,
Slouch
Fall.

Stand
Fall
And
Sleep
All

Feel
Touch
&
Stand
Tall,

Skipped
Sit
To
Eat
All.

Breathe
Deep
To
Watch
Walls

Stand
Climb
Stairs
Then,

Sit
Sleep
Feel
Stare
Skyfalls.

So
Just,
Stand
Sit
Eat
Sleep-
and fall.

They whisper something in my ears,
Like they are crying.

It blows through my body,
Making random stops—
Up to my ears.

Then all of a sudden,
To the middle of my rooftop,
Inclined on one of its pillars,
They pierce like jets
Through my earphones.

They whisper that they are blissed,
Maybe they laughed—
Out swished.

Zuuuunn nn mm nm n n,
Fhhz zunnnnnn...

Slowly, they whisper—
Like they are fine.
And when they make me look
At the stars,
They scream out softly.

So softly,
Like they whisper in my head.
From my hairs,
They pat them gently,
Whispering:
"You are okay."

And it blows all through my body,
Making stops more frequent,
Blowing faster and faster—

But still,
They whisper slowly.

Zuuuuuunn,
Swish~
And maybe,
They are not just crying.

Once upon a time
a father with his belt –
(with black shiny paint
and a steel which is melt)

And a son, a pen in his hand
A book by his side
A lamp blowing light
Tears in his eyes
The fear in his veins
With his wimped tiny mole

(A cry in his neck and
a gulp in his bones)

Whimp whimp strikes the ground
Wipes the tears,picks up his pen
Shakes up his head,
Gives him a cloth,
to blow up his nose

(A smile on the boy's face
The fallen tear on the page's lace
It dried his shake on hand and
moved him a pace)

Whimp, whimp, whimp – strikes again
(A posed fear on son's face)
Whimp, and he strikes again
(The clueless child, shakes with his pain )

The blats on the floor
and its black remains
The years of slaps
which slashed up cement

(He comes back..
drops his belt   )

A relief in boy's breath

The steel fallen,
relief is felt

The father with his red hands
(Blood flows out at a spot's end )
Smiles at the son

Dark is his eyes like year's repent

(A strung in his mind
He shakes only once,
As he picks up his belt)

He sits on his couch and
acts as he had a father –
with a belt-
(with its black shiny paint and
a steel which is melt.)