The prison bus
passes this way

every now and then,
surfacing without

warning—a leviathan
of metal, grease, and glass

its dark windows secured
by squares of rusted wire

its diesel engine heart
spewing exhaust that

turns morning rain
the color of seawater.

The prison bus
does not stop
for stop signs;

red lights are nothing
but violent memories
strung in an overcast sky.

When the bus strikes
something in its path

the prisoners bounce
slightly in their seats,

lifted into
impartial air

liberated
momentarily

by the familiar
co-conspirators
of blood and laughter.

In his dreams,
the guard who
drives the prison bus
circumnavigates the globe,
plowing through clouds
of insects that shimmer
like fuel above the road.

========================
her smile burst like bubble gum
her cheeks smell as queen of the night
her face glow like the morning sun
o my sweet child, you entwined me like Jasmine

~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

if
love is a dream
it
rip the flesh
from
the soul
oh
love it seems

Love dies in secrets

If hearts are kept

Stillborn

Silent.