Love hides like a tiny insect,
Sometimes it flies analogously,
Then it finds a corner, just perfect,
For it to sit down and ponder,
Over all the people heartlessly rushing hither, thither, yonder.
Their hearts are fragile like glass,
So small, so brittle.
Hopes, both large and little
Reside amidst jungles of desires.
Everything is such a beautifully perplexing chaos,
That Life stares blankly, and admires.
The Beauty
The Beast
The unyielding Duty
Of Being, at least.

Look at me rant ceaselessly,
As my heart pounds harder than my chest can take.
You come here and leave immediately,
And the illusion dissolves; is all this just fake?
How wonderful I feel,
No matter what I write.
The world will never give me a seal,
Whether wrong, or contemptuously right.
Music rushes into my ears, flooding my canal.
Words and words, I think and think, but nothing seems final.
Appropriate is what they appreciate.
Everything else is just another reason to depreciate.
You have taught me all the ways in which I am not great.
Yet show me how to stop, and your temples will cringe with fret,
With regret.
Sing unto my untamable spirit, tales of clipping wings,
Or the melody of how a ruffled feather sings,
And I will break it down for you,
All the nuances,
Of our last rendezvous.

Dare to look into my eyes.
Even if you find nothing but empty sighs.
I am not made for your poetry.
I am drained now, reduced to nothing but grocery.
My earth derailed from its dreams,
Crashes against mirrors, stiflingly decorated with cuts molded against seams.
Fabrics, Feelings and Fragrances, all laced up.
Pour me some of that whiskey.
I have no glass, just a small, pointless cup.

The clouds cast a spell,
The subversive winds refuse to repel,
The air tastes of garbage,
Like memories wasted in Carthage.
Before you leave,
Twice you return.
Waiting for your soul,
To respond to the wild fern.

My experiences resonate a cheerless glory,
Centuries and centuries have buried your story.
You raise eyebrows at my unadulterated audacity,
At my feminine body,
Which understands not the limits of femininity.
The sun surfaces on my cheeks
Propelling birds from the corners of my eyes,
The lingering touch of grass,
Holds witness to my crass,
Quenching spirit.

A satiated restlessness follows,
Why am I so ****** sensuous?
Why do the leaves shy away from me
When the sky has crawled under my skin?
Why do the confused clouds and I
Have the chaos akin?

You whisper to me,
“It was a time of beauty,
The pomegranate bright red,
The orange trees made of purity,
Of freshly painted green.”
The children have died,
The grandchildren had defied.
Your love for,
Visitors.
But here we are,
Lying side by side,
Writhing in the mysterious tide,
Of all the flowers that bloom,
In the breathtaking pervasiveness of your Tomb.

Tired yellows on infant flowers
Are like resignation on new lovers.
Rains drop, when the sky blinks;
Fetching tears on abandoned brinks.
The sweaty smell of gestation,
Signifies the mangoes’ manifestation.
I close my eyes and hear
The inevitable drum roll caving near.
Spring reclines under the parapets of roofs,
Crushed like a migrant under our carriage hoofs.
Summer.
The Harbinger of Life.
Possess these seeds and fertilize
Their voluble dormancy
In the flames of insurgency.

Morbid skies
Bid farewell to the clouds;
Catacombs rejoice
As they remove their shrouds.
Slowly silently treads
Night,
Bidding adieu to the fading light.

You close your fearless eyes,
Rest them in your dusk of lies.
I kiss you
On your forehead
The part between your brows
which u said,
Hurts.

And you question the world,
And all that it has ever hurled,
At you,
In spurts.

The waters are dark
Where we are headed.
It's too dark,
To show our spark.

So stop worrying
About the love.
Here we have
Our secret cove.

Where there is no safety
Hold on to me bravely.
Where we are headed towards,
No journey can commence backwards.

I am Home now.
Tear my soul and wear
All your desires out.
My body is but yours,
To flout.

When treacherous storms
Rage against the night,
I am silently reminded,
Of your terrifying might.

There is no protection.
We are all somewhat deaf.
From finding ourselves,
In the oceans of the self.