Tell me,
Are you listening to these words?
They fell from my mouth.
Raindrops, scattering silence.
Through wisps of faint crackling,
The embers now ash. Before the throne of God
I called you Saviour
I called you Goddess
I called you Life Itself!
And now... Look!
I'm falling from reality,
Into a fictional anguish.
So listen, Please... Listen!
I do not hate, the way you impassioned my grasp.
I cannot be anything else,
But a light, flickering into dark skies.
I am you, or the part of you
That you cannot love, but do...

The Melanin in our Skin
The Plumpness of our Lips
The Honey of our Eyes
The Span of our Hips
The Shine in our Smiles
The Power in our gentle Minds
The Care in our Hands
The Love in our Hearts
Makes Us Queens

There is beauty in the End;
Beauty in a conglomerate of
Failed fairy tales we
Once thought would make up
Our life's happy trails.
Virtue hangs purposefully
On quivering lips
and racing heartbeats
that foretells a demise-
There's MEANING in the End.
Wipe your tears.
Dry your eyes.
These are means to every End.
So enjoy that Last Kiss
and mourn not the story that it concludes
But await the one that it begins.
For like I said,
There is Beauty in the End

date me. im a poet.
open yourself to my intrusion; i want to write about you.
lace these blue inked lines with pieces of you in metered rhymes and poetic prose; i wish to write about you.
will you... give me something to pen about you today?
i long to squeeze lemons of you onto a page and watch the edges curl around your bitter wetness; containing you w fail..
because you cant be held
in.
i long only to gaze at the glory of you framed in the pages of my journal
and pray this time i dont lose it in transition.

so.. again.. date me.
im a poet.
i beg of you, baby..
let me write about you?

i wont promise a collection of pretty poems
or
blossoming words of flattery.
but
i will adore you in word play;
showcasing your fault lines in all their rapture;
encouraging the world to be just as you are
because
when they read you spread across my pages they will want to write about you, too.
You think, maybe.. we could all write about you?

Youre a vibe of indescribable musing
and if i could just..
place you w all your rough edges on to these smooth lines,
I could encourage someone to read today..
even if its just you who's eyes glide across my words drinking yourself in becoming full off the high that you are.

certainly, then.. youll see how poectic ive colored you.
surely, youll demand that i write about you.
youll beg me to date you.
in response,
i'll pile high journals on journals in front of you
and youll see
all this time,
all along...
ive BEEN writing about you.

it's really something
how quickly things can change
how one poem ago
you were back
in my bed
in my heart
how one poem ago
you accidentally called me honey
in the middle
of a flirtatious conversation
and every time after that
was on purpose
if you ask me
there are no such thing
as accidents
I would tell you there is no
such thing
as coincidence
that you are only setting yourself
up
for failure
by choosing to believe
in miracles
if you asked me
I would tell you
a long time ago
many
many poems ago
I believed in love
at first sight
and
soul mates
and fate
but the truth is
these beliefs are built
on a quicksand foundation
of lust
and naivety
and sheer
stupidity
love
is the hardest part
of living
the deadliest war
to sign up for
your heart
is not a soldier
you
are not
a battleground
this love
is guerrilla warfare
that wink
this grin
those hands on my hips
these lips
on my neck
your breath
in my ear
my name
on your tongue
this
is
war
one poem ago
we were asleep
like lazy lovers
on a sunday afternoon
one poem ago
the sound of you
moaning my name
has seared itself
back into
my brain
one poem ago
I love you so
much that I say
I will never
let you go
and this morning
you are severing
your own arms
just to escape from
my grasp

Am I really a writer or just form some words
Do you really understand me or do I just write for the birds?
Thoughts flow through my brain all jumbled and confused
I can’t help but unscrambled them and make sense of these floating words
Bubbles form above my head
Telling stories of reality that no one else said
Sometimes I feel like I’m not good enough to be on here
Sharing my stories of love, sadness and fears
So many words form into writings of my surroundings
I love sharing all of my feelings....
          Again,
Am I really a writer or
Just Wasting My
        Time....

We all have SCARS
Whether
         Physical
              or
          Mental
The difference is
If you chose to
Embrace them
Or hide them from the world

I am not a believer in the popular notion of God or Allah or Yahweh or Prabhu or Bhagwan or Rabb or any other concept.

I do believe that something has created all of it but that power isn't as selfish to make its creations worship it. The power will be happy if we remain faithful towards life on Earth and do not conduce in destroying any form of life that can express its pain animatedly.

I despise the promise of a place in an imaginary place called heaven or paradise if we comply with the words conveyed to a single person by the fictional creator or the punishment in boiling oil if we don't comply with the words conveyed to that fictional man.

Heaven is nowhere if logic is to be heeded to, but heaven is now here if love, compassion and brotherhood towards all creatures on this planet is on our minds while all of us humans loyally comply with our duties.

Any creator, that will tell a man (probably on marijuana) in his dreams that nonbelievers are to be either converted or killed before the descent of Pralay/Qayamat/Doomsday, is a figment of imagination which propagated through the course of time.

Do good, practice fidelity to your family and your Karma will be balanced to help you attain Nirvaņa.