This serves as a nothing but I tell you,
Never in the existence of a life,
You'll see that words are not a useless lie,
It takes a lot of time to make this new,
But I guess you will watch these lovely hues,
For her future to be, as of for use,
No one will never discover her kind,
I am pretty sure that she stands a right,
I wish I could turn back from the time,
Where there's a madness within all the fears,
I should let this all come to rest and ripe,
Is the fruit when my heart is pure, my dears,
You told me one time, "Please just hold on tight,"
Please just let my voice be your guide, and hear.

C old & cool
A iry & abuzz
N atural & noble
A ppetizing & appealing
D angerous & dandy
A muck & AWESOME

My sweetheart you are always in dreams
The moment I open eyes you are in front
You surround me around like light beams
I love you because you are rude and blunt

I keep you hidden in heart like a treasure
I carry you along like my colored universe
You my love remain my source of pleasure
You are so wonderful so sweet and diverse

I love you as I love my life is really precious
I consider you as my only choice in my life
I do know that you are so kind and gracious
So please take me to heart don't keep on knife

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow

I breathe once again, under the blanket
when I write half words, half terms
on the bed I make love to myself
touching every curve as I flow
under the melody, the apple of me

I breathe giving my best,keeping traces
when I write half words, half terms
affixed to the posts as white flags
of surrender and meandering forevers
under the melody, the apple of me

I breath rising up again, feeding vultures
when I write half words, half terms
in deeper papers thrown in ocean floors
where sharks sails and penguins tilts
under the melody, the apple of me

I breath at last on the rights of the heavens
when I write half words, half terms
hiding the phrases that races,the poetic pace
feeling the wonders of rightenouness
under the melody, the apple of me

I sit in the dark
and puncture my heart
play poet to start
balancing all of those
uneven evening stars.
Till all of our scars blink at
the same twinkling beat that
blows me away like
an old-school gangster’s gat.

Now, I bleed
and I can’t get that red shirt back
this isn’t Star trek
but I use to figure that
we would be better than that.
Instead, we are worse.

So I curse this curious soul,
drop off to sleep and lose control.
I let my sub conscious go,
shrink my hope and let sorrow grow,
write it down so you will know
that we are not getting better.
We’re getting way worse.

A few drivers,
mid-summer afternoon

lean against the divider,
paint peeling

some perch on it lightly---
indulge in hot group-talk;

the waltzing-shadow
of a banyan tree
opposite side of the
auto-rickshaw stand---

a street-art, delicate, dark-hued;

the phantom arms
hug
the disparate crew
in a tight family-embrace,
its breath tousling their hair

and it---
protects them from
the Mumbai heat!
@Sunil Sharma