One of the many forms of hate, racism is a monster that stares in the eyes of men and breathes fires of destruction,

Racism is another ism like classism is all about hate, it swallows men and women like each other,

It’s Satan’s child and devours races and classes, a black cross painted in my room,

Their tears reflect the haunted memories in the corner, of american blacks and apartheids I heard as stories,

The walls are blackened with their wails and weeps, but racists partied in the boulevard,

Billboards get fingerprinted by some hands, displaying the monster’s play - a stare kept alive,

The curtains unruffle at dawn, still the sun chokes the atmosphere with the slogans
Peace out haters !

Pyres burn Rome

Shadowed by the dwarfist colosseum

And down into the crown of Hades,


A jewel adores the red drape

And the olive branch resting on his head

Nero , slayer of Vandals and music


The foot horns imprint the glazed tiles

And a Lapis Lazuli paints his eyes

For hatred blinds him using cloth,


Blood soaks his gullible limbs

And frees his spirit in Hemlock

That I drank as well….

Pyres burn my heart tonight

I walk down the timepiece

So it can sip my niceties,

I thaw my soul in the outings

Tears I cried in 63’s,

Shoving my shelf off

Patching the game cards out,


The hotel room’s melting

Fuming the memories I kept for long,

My room is a mess, thinking the dead

I comb my strands recklessly

Bite it like my rusted shackles

The band is dying, I never mortify,


Seeing is a crime

Blindfolded like time,

I have worn out my shoes

Touching the tissues of my mistakes,

I act like Midas.

His finger locks my teeth together

And stitches the tip of my tongue

Into a warzone horizon of madness,

Homes are destroyed; families broken

And still we are lost in our own lives

He, who feeds on his mother’s carcass

Wrecks his caged gaze apart,

My minuscule arms set him free from the light

Guns

       Ships

               Tridents

Pierce my ear with a pint-sized shell

And swallows my religious sentiments

Smoke

          Ashes

                  Flesh

Their sentiments haunt me in memories

Cushioned and stuffed like quilt in my pillows

Burning the effigies into the toxins I swallowed

Down by the valley of romantic deaths

It sipped my soul out of my bottle XXXXX

Her hair dangles off her shoulder

A single ponytail made from diverse strands

Dressed in different hues , she walks

And embraces new adventures daily,

She teaches with a smile on her face

With words embedded in her mind and soul,

Her body resides with Shakespeare

And lives with his sonnets and plays

Yet beauty defines her physically

For her literature is unparalleled,

Her poems juggle everyone’s vision

Yet appreciations clung onto her journal !

And humbleness steps at her doorsteps

For a teacher has a fragile but strong heart,

She tries to ignore our mischieves

Sharing every moment and bit with us

Amidst the studious atmosphere,

Her earrings define every class she takes

For she will be printed in our memories’.

Her locks tied their bonds together
from their hearts down to their hands
the chains tie her feet ; for love conquers her soul,
she is left to drown in paradise
for her halo rests in his head,
but darkness flourishes through their future
it draws a line, beyond her sight,
a hammer shakes them slowly
trying to break them apart
and hangs a flower into the shade
to take her curtains of joy away
leaving her on the cliffside of lies,
she still took the poison and let it burn her throat
carved the words she thought were nice
truth cannot always be kept hidden?
she revolves around a blood-knife,
sadness strikes the smooth core
like glass bits stuck in her affectionate heart
shreds a little bit of innocence and moon dust
shaping her to carry out a new life,
but every second felt like a year
placing it on timber and out in the sun
with salt sprinkled on her wounds,
it still lurks in her brain’s alley
her locks got cracked but she found the key
to all her questions, which kept her at bay.

The cuckoo swarms the honey pots
padlocked using a mosaic lock,
it flutters like destiny with the clouds
faster than the flies hovering the swamp
blindsided by the sweet shops an inch away,
housing the colorful lamps and steel plates  ,
from a distance the cycle bells ring
like bells on the clock tower
shimmering under the hot sun ,
the infant is way too messy,
dropping the nutcrackers on the floor
kissed by his feet, he spits words
of strange alphabets hung by a loose coil,
the follicles press the spiraled mat at the door
wetting the smooth passage ahead ,
thrown by the hand-hugged steel ,
near the moss, a cycle stands
pedaled by a sweaty labor
encrusted like turquoise shades on his surface,



The honey *** lies empty ~~~