Beneath your fingertips lies the earth of roses, their essence entwined
with sharp, thorny scratches upon your neck. Moist lips utter a
cascade of words, attempting to dilute the value of any moment; these
words, a subtle taste inspiring saliva that stirs the mouth, to spit a
piece of game, loudly amidst the intricate game of cards that mirrors
the tumultuous game of love.

Tears well in my eyes for those who are suicidal – cutting themselves,
even as life unfolds as a beautiful wound. We grow amidst the pain of
our parents, who pray silently that we are not handed over to their
burdens at birth. It is a legacy, passed down through generations,
where ancestors never dared to shatter the shackles of their
subjugation. This oppression, cloaked in passive aggression, who can
dream for their young, when they’re too busy living so restless? How
can one value God’s favour, when you always rivalling other people’s
blessings?

The notion of death becomes a familiar companion; in a world where
malevolence persists, the thought of extinguishing it all seems a swift
solution. Those pretty eyes, seemingly pure, can swiftly unveil the
truth that being innocent is a fragile façade that can be lost in a sec.
But wouldn’t you want to fall in love with someone who appears
heaven sent – perhaps they hail from the heavens, but their arrival is
more a descent. Even Lucifer must have carried a bit of Heaven’s
scent.

Everyone seems decent every time you greet them; meet them a couple
times and you mind tries to delete them… I’m thinking too much,
the mind is the evil of the heart, when the two don’t always get along.

You are the blossom flourishing within the confines of my heart's
garden – my unwavering anchor amidst the tempest of turmoil;
a guiding light that directs my gaze toward the distant end of this
dark passage.

I am but a letter resting at your final resting place, bearing secrets
that will guide you to paradise – I murmur your name with every
tear that falls for you in the place of my dreams; in the whispers
of the wind, the gentle caress of rain, and even in the desolation
of the moments we are separated.

Beloved, you are my heart's desire.

In this modern age,
every man is just looking for a hole to fill,

I’m just looking to fill
the heart-shaped hole in my chest
to find a love that is honest and so real…

I am a hanging thread, hanging onto life,
in this delicate fabric of existence; concealed in a shirt.
The fibres strain, so be gentle, for a harsh tug may
unravel my very depth.

Sewn together by dreams, woven with the strands
of hope, my soft cotton faith absorbs the anguish
that surrounds me.

I am a hanging thread, hanging on for dear life –
with a singular, poignant message to impart:

Hang in there!

From the ***** where a child is fed – the essence of their identity
woven by what a father has said; I carry the faith of my mother,
often shadowed by my father's scepticism. I find myself gazing into
the reflective gaze of a taxi driver, contemplating the tapestry of my
past—insecurities gnawing at my resolve as clasped hands rest in the
back seat. I catch fleeting glimpses of my youthful, innocent laughter
—frozen in time, a testament to pure love captured in a photograph;
a reminder of the paths we trod in pursuit of our dreams.

My creator had named me a rare and radiant pearl, a pearl growing
in the oyster womb of a mother — His love mirrored in that precious
gem as I navigate a crowded life, where strangers step on your toes.

Upon my shoulders, the weight of the world is not meant to rest—
where attempts to quench my thirst yield only the bitterness of ash.
Yet, the fire of my aspirations flickers brightly in my gaze—do I dare
to pursue love with courage?

Indeed, that spark ignites into a flame, and that flame transforms
into an all-consuming love— His love, an all-consuming love.

                                                        ­I am loved.

Your eyes may speak the cons of consistency – you live a life of make
believe; you might have forgotten how to believe in your dreams –
their steadfastness might have slipped from your grasp. Your burdens
sometimes resound like a tempest, reverberating through the space,
thunderous and relentless, yet always, the sun breaks through; its
radiance brings warmth, and with warmth, love flourishes.

And love remains, unless it softly murmurs: “I’ve finally departed.”
Love knows no age, neither young nor old, but exists in the
timelessness of a breath – for in moments of suffocation, that breath
arrives to clear your chest…

Your anguish could be distilled into a single droplet – a tear, so
numerous that they could overflow a basin – do not allow them to
drown your heart or wash away your soul. Instead, release them to
rise and vanish beneath the sun, into this life that is both exquisite
and untamed.


                       We could be love, if only we learn to love more!

I met the edge of death – her blade slicing through my very
skin; cutting me into pieces; a piece of me died inside, haunting
my dreams like a spectre. My bucket of tears had run dry, in
a futile attempt to fill this glass bottle of forever, though it remains
a daydream.

Pop a cherry, somehow the shattering of innocence – levitating
in a bubble of love, praying to God it doesn't pop. I lived the
omnipotent experience, danced with the spectre of death, a cruel
and merciless partner in this dark waltz.  While the heart sleeps,
my brain still thinks – I lament the vision of a nobler self, confined
to the realm of my dreams.

In my quest for paradise, I only discovered the relentless paradigm
of a life wrestling all time left on its mind. I was once a love warrior;
now merely a worrier of love – the winds of my spirit propel the
arrow of my aspirations, yet I still falter in my aim.

As your brows furrow, rising to confront the shadows of doubt,
I reflect on a life marred by fear, despair, and unfulfilled affection…
yet, we may die inside tonight, just to live tomorrow!