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I keep thinking about all the things we could become,
about adventures we would put in our pockets,
and watch the dark capture the sun.

But I’m sure you don’t know how I feel,
but it’s not you who is spellbound,
since it’s you who spins the wheel.

I know you, yet you are still a stranger,
it’s rather funny the way we met,
but now I sense the inevitable danger.

Sometimes we don’t talk for a while
yet I still wonder how you’re doing,
and then I can’t stop to smile.

To be honest I would like to run away,
but you keep me tied to your wrist,
without hearing the words I have to say.

I think we have a lot of calamity in us,
yet it seems to hurt me the most,
so hit me with your best shot.

**And take my breath away for the last time.
He calls her out when his imagination is used up,
then his ideas keep spawning, continuing nonstop.

Yet he can’t move his hands, they are paralyzed
from the touch of her hands; he feels hypnotized.

Her eyes are full of roaming oceans and thunder,
crushing small sailboats like a bloodthirsty hunter.

Her skin is gleaming in the veil of the silver moon,
reminding him of his first kiss with her back in June.

Her lips are covered in poison, like they were back then,
with a bare touch they can turn boys into grown up men.

Freckles are lightly strewn over her cheeks and nose,
smiling and blinking of all the little secrets she knows.

Her hair is chestnut brown with hints of flaming red,
dancing like fires in the reflection of the sun on top of her head.

The sky is trembling whenever she speaks a word,
sending shivers down his spine and making his vision blurred.

Whenever she takes a step the earth is loudly moaning,
making his ears on the very verge of exploding.

Her heart is a black hole storing mysterious crimes,
forgotten solar systems and corpses of ancient times.

Her soul is nowhere to be seen, it disappeared out of the blue,
making her a floating skeleton with something to pursue.

But when he takes the brush and pencil and begins to paint and write.
nothing ever happens; the canvas and paper still remain white.
You are like a corpse flower;
Beautiful and rare, but with a hint of death
In case you do not know what a corpse flower is or how it looks like, then I suggest you should Google it. It's a very unique and  beautiful flower, but with a foul smell.
 Sep 2016 Dark Delusion
Àŧùl
A happy couple,
You and me,
Walk.
A painter paints,
Both of us,
Exactly.
Into the Sunset.
HP Poem #1150
©Atul Kaushal
 Sep 2016 Dark Delusion
sanctuary
If you were here,





*God, I just wish you are.
Every poem I wrote,
I wrote for you;
To try and erase
The wounds you left.

Today
I am writing for me,
Because I have realized
That these wounds will never
Disappear.

They will stay.

They will scar.

And they will be beautiful.

They will be gashes
In my flower petal skin
Sealed with gold,
Lacing me back together.

They will spill sunlight
And music
And all the venom
That you have filled me with
Will dissolve.

I will be new.

I will be fresh.

I will grow new
Flower petal skin.

There is no more whiskey
Left in my blood;
There is no more reason
To beg you to come home.

I am not a child,
I am
A woman king;

A flower who has been
Whiskey dipped.

And, regardless,
I have bloomed.
....
From womb  to born
Every morn
Each breath
Even on the road of death
I’m alone
Walking with broken bone

While the Summer wind blows
In this narrow lane
Love flows in my wide vein
As the Streams of heavy rain
Alone else
Only the past tense

In the dark, I hark
A distant bark
In the dream there was
A beautiful park
With a few sign of paws
Yet I couldn’t find any cause

The Streams going down
While flowing in this old town
The Stone grew worn and torn
Rolling else alone
Like my broken bone
.......
@Musfiq us shaleheen
.....
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