Words** ,
What do you make of it?
So saccharine
So chasmic
Yet
So raw
So excruciating.
That It guzzles your heart bit by bit
Words,
What do you make of it
When you see them caper
As you see your feet in rain
Or when you witness it
Spanking scorn on people’s mind
And forcing them to spend those sleepless night,
Why so confusing are them words?
Why the scent of them arouses a writer’s heart
And becomes a cause or,
An apocalypse.
What do you make of it?
When it pushes you to the apex
Or drags you down to the burning fiasco
And you think it Is fix
Words, that makes schadenfreude
Alive,
Death scary
And life so obsessing?
The base of hopes,  
Wings of imagination
The eyes of love
A scent, of imagination
A magic
A poison
A tower so bright
Somewhere in horizon
Words,
So many yet so little
Things to say
But, words are them
What do you make of it?

In the silence of atrocity she grieve
the ache she procured on Saturday eve,
oh she grieves.
so kind, serene he was at first
when she met him on Hamel's street.
would dress pink
and hairs so neat
would live time with him.
slowly, nicely, time
edged.
''I, will marry you and save your heart with me''
he pledged!!
as they lay in serenity.
moon and sun and stars gazing their love
the continuous curve that won't over,
but then came the wind so hard,
hours stunned it
A Saturday eve
the orange love turned into a clover.
he became frenzied and fierce
voices flying up and decisions pierce.
her beauty turned red,
swollen mouth and cut hairs,
shouting stories and crying nights.
oh, how the crushed dreams and
horror bites.
made one lass,
mum, afraid and hurt.
now the nights are dried.
the sun ignorant.
he left.
Alone in a dark spot, silence
silence every air
and In the silence of atrocity she grieve
the ache she procured on Saturday eve,
oh she grieves..

There's a story,
Always one.
Alone somewhere waiting.
A story,
In Abdul's curious eyes
A story,
In those doubtful goodbyes.
Always one,
Ravelled.
Somewhere in begger's bowl,
in those frightening howl..
A story,
Between the parade bands.
A story,
Somewhere behind those
Men,
Gazing at no man's land.
Weapons are gripped
Bullets fly,
Shouts become deaf
And , humanity becomes numb,
On those wet, dead roads,
What walks in silence...
is a story.
Always one.
Partially unseen,
There stands one story.

I sat alone, questioning and wondering.
disguised a slothful i sat .
days slipped, so the rain and thundering.
I sat alone, questioning and wondering,
is that all we made of?
Lies, greed and of chouse love?
of killing kinds for no reason?
of black desires
and of nurturing treason?
I sat alone, questioning and wondering.
why can't we all stand on the same bench?
I sat, wondering.