It’s not about yesterday ,
I am not even breaking the tomorrow’s bread ,
It’s about this very moment ,

Every new sunrise destroys the moon ,
Every new sunset creates another one ,
The stars never complain about this foreplay ,

They are selfish , maybe ,
Just like you and me ,
And the sky is the cryptic god of this lucid script .

When they make love ,
They are indisputable , Irresistible , Irreversible  ,
No one can intervene the realm of the loudest silence .

They moan just like you and I ,
But who is giving an ear ?
Can they ? Can you ? Can I ?  

It’s never enough ,
Neither content .

They sleep on each other’s chest ,
Just like you sleep in  tranquility on my cynical palm .

How humane is to complain about love ?
Some are afraid to embrace ,
They will complain about others .

Someone should interpret the silence ,
Then you too may say “ well said ” .

All of them words
I know they are going to heal you ,
Because they are going to kiss you ,
But whom would you like to take them kisses from ?
One of them is blue and the other one is purple , perplexed ,
I hope you won’t mind the green too ,
But the red one ? that might devast your lips , pinks too .

I know you are feeling better now ,
but you don’t still know about the yellow ,
That raises a sun rise into you ,
And , maybe the sun is warm ,
Not scrotching but irritating ,
It might keep you in circles of hallos ,

And now I know you are thinking ,
You don’t always like the paradox , do you ?
What do you think heart always peace the mind or piece too ?
  
And now you are rubbed in every corner of your conscious ,
you don’t like questions while you are thinking , do you ?
The third question , I am sure it boiled you .

And since you are boiled you are not going to speak but smile ,
And it could be cold or childish both ,
Whichever the moment demands ,

But wait , have I told you about the purple one ?
It ripples and tears the heart ,
The purple is the darker of them I have mentioned ,
Poisonous as it loves too ,
Loves without propaganda and agenda ,
The theories are difficult so .

Now you are rubbed and scratched ,
You didn’t want it this way, do you ?
The fire which burns the slowest burns the most ,
It can even not be the brightest ,
Like a flickering cricket on you .

Still what it shows is indifferenceness ,
And the price for love can only be love ,
Isn’t that ?

©

And then you wake up from another dream,
Unlike a nightmare a dream is always sweet ,

Scratched down in forbidden walls ,
You find the afternoon sour and rough ,

The evening can be bitter ,
Or Maybe better ,
The bitter can be better too ,

While numerous scars left on thy heart ,
The dripping blood is never enough red too ,

It burns twice or thrice in every second,
In every moment a bit too ,

And then you fall in an ocean of vultures ,
Where the ravens are crooning high and low,

You rush to every corner to find a door ,
But the walls are getting higher now ,

Forbidden they , for you dull ,
Like a damsel's midnight hue ,

The only thing you find in the walls ,
A bottle of spirit which is blue ,

Have you ever wondered how does it feel ,
When you pour it on your bruise?

The cut is deep, flesh on hit ,
It's just the scratch numbs you slow .

©

I drank the ocean from the mouth of a galaxy ,
Electrifying was it’s tide ,
And the surface of the waves was smooth ,
Smooth like avocado’s stomach ,

It glides the surfer towards the crooning cyclone ,
But cosmic is the cluster ,
Where no moon howls or star whirls ,
leads to endless catharsis ,

I drank the ocean from the mouth of a galaxy ,
Like the wolves and hyenas drink blood ,
Like the vulture waits for every last drop of  the deceased ,
I took time and I drank till it ends .

©

The morning was harsh ,
And it hurt.
The sun was bleeding ,
The morning felt the burn .

It hurt bad ,
The heart was heavy ,
Heaving with shrouded shout ,
It hurt .

But do not let the door stay closed ,
If it hurts , let it hurt more ,

The wine turned black ,
The lunatic bled ,
And every drop of blood, she tenderly swept ,

The noon was harsh ,
And it hurt ,
The sun was obscured ,
The clouds were black ,

It hurt bad ,
Really really bad ,
His breath was heavy ,
Suffocated ,

Smothered in wound ,
It hurt bad ,

But do not let the door stay closed ,
If it hurts , let it hurt more ,

The spoon turned red ,
With the heat he freed ,
The lunatic bled ,
And every drop of blood, she tenderly swept ,

The afternoon was a rush ,
He could not weave a new burn ,
But he melt .

The flame ,
The ruin ,
The wound ,
The unseen ,
Forsaken .

The night was cold ,
Snowy and alone ,
He could not breathe ,
Still he spoke ,
Mistaken , misfortune ,

She nurtured , She swept ,
Every drop he bled .
It hurts , It is wounded .

©

What is heaven and what is hell
I’ve smelled it in the valley of your ******* ,
My nose down on the smooth surface ,
The touch of skin , thundered rain ,
I’ve heard the sound of redemption ,
It came from underneath the mountains ,
It sounded like the wild beats of cherokee drum ,
Joy ! Definitely it shook me ,
I shivered but kissed it all ,
Through the valley , lips walked along ,
Holy wine , holy spirit ,
I’ve tasted god in your skin .