Imagination

       Is the colour-aroma of rose-literature

The idea

That at least I could change myself

Is actually not an idea

It's a great enterprise

Business of selling happiness free
Is so magnetic it might bring clouds in summer

Try it

He caught a bird
Close him in a dark dungeon

I went there

His legs were chained
His hands were chained

Hair were the mould of dust
The beard was the oldest jaundice

For months he hadn't bathed

To see me
Tears rolled down his hollowed cheeks
To the floor

Something he murmured
Something his sighs galloped

As I turned my back
I heard the longest cry

Let me go
Let me go

Afternoons are sour creams in the spoons of June

Listen

Your every word is a jelly fish
Strolling in the moonlight

I believe
You won't want me to eat out of spoons

Dig out
Plough well
Sow seeds of happiness

Everyone is hungry
Some are starving

I'd a narrow escape

Everyone

Is carrying a huge bag to fill it with

Dollars

On the high way

I'm walking on the footpath

With a sip of happiness

My assets

She is a blue cup
On a white tray
Honey is to the brim
My lips not pursed
To sip and sip and sip

Everything is somehow snoozefest
I'm happy I've imagination
That drops on pages

Dare if you're intrepid
And undress the poem
In the broad daylight
In the crowd
Thrash it with lashes
Of sharp-pins leather
Sit and watch
How much it groans
And struggle to escape
prostrate at your feet
To let it go
And reach its home
Nothing will happen
As you're thinking, laughing
It will pass through
Like an American president
After addressing people
And you will be flabbergasted
At its greatness

Hold some dust in your palm
And know the reality of life

Under water,
We believe our capacity to come out,
Every problem is a deep dive
Trust your ability to get through

You cannot take out diamonds from the well
You cannot draw out bright-coming-days from the past