You
use to
comment on how
cold my hands always
were, back when you had
them to hold. I guess when
your heart is of ice, it tends
to somehow show Even in the
small ways, like the heart-to-hand
ice flow.

You are an
Earthquake,
Powerful and sudden.
No one
Saw you coming,
Certainly not I.
You came
Quickly
And tore me apart,
Into many
Different people.
All hurt and broken,
But one never like
The others.
And now,
We all wander around,
Trying to find out
Who we really are.

Sleep, my love,
For the night has come
Rest your eyes
Unwind

Softly covered from head to toe
I sent a kiss with what I know,
Arms openly inviting
Closing up ever so tightly,
And feeling your infinite warmth,
All around me.

It's late at night when I crave your touch, and to be in your arms again.
Your emerald eyes piercing through me, causing my heart to skip, like a young girl playing on the sidewalk.
Your chestnut hair, all wild and untamed as my frantic fingers pull and run through it.
The softness of your lips, O those lips,
as pink as the morning skies when the sun begins to rise once more. Your rough hands possess a gentle touch
as they travel up and down the sacred temple which you call my body. I crave the feeling that overtakes me as you hold me through the darkest of nights,
our bodies and limbs a tangled mess
with the bedsheets. Your breath on my neck, warm and reassuring as you press your body, tightly against mine.
Because it's nights like these where your touch is my remedy.

I remember the sad sound in your sweet voice,
you trembled when we hugged,
when you told me goodbye.
I cried my eyes out
& left tears in your hair
that enveloped me
in the wind
that day,
the last day I saw you.

I love him.
But secretly I adore you.

We are different.
But you and me are parallels.

He is complex
But you just understand.

He is all style
But you are substance.

He is all facts
But you are creative.

I don't know what do to.
But I know I'm lying.

There are times
Like now
When I don't feel like
Spinning poems
Extracted from my
Many thoughts.

Instead
I let my thoughts
Roam free
In my mind.
Of love, of life,
Of heartbreak, of hatred,
They stay as sentence fragments
I repeat to myself
Over and over
Until
They're ready
To be
Written.

Fingers shake.
Scribble down one last thought.
Sigh of relief.
Lay envelope under pillow.
Eyes close.

This is a poem,
Like any other poem.
About a girl who met a boy.
Did they fall in love,
Yes,
They did.
They fell,
Like the rain.
Then,
One day,
The boy,
Smiled.
And that was that.
But,
The girl,
She couldn't forget.
She couldn't forget that smile.
And, so
She wrote to him.
A poem a day.
Everyday,
Before she slept,
Slipping them under her bed.
With each passing day,
The girl wrote a new poem.
And soon,
She became an old woman.
But,
The boy had also become old,
And, once again, he left,
Resting in peace.
When she found out.
The old woman didn't know what to do.
So,
She wrote one last poem,
And slipped it under her pillow.....

The old woman down the street had died.
Who was she?
No one came to her funeral.
Apparently, there were pieces of paper stuffed under her bed.
Its trash now.

Everyone is an island,
But everyone is trying to connect the island with the main land through a bridge!
Everyone is trying hard to get the soil to grow!
Thus, everybody is busy building their own viaduct!
They build it,
With their own materials of heart and soul!
But when storms come hearts are split and destabilized,
Some time liquefy in rain water!  And Bridges break down!
Again it is becoming an isolated island!
So, in the race of edifice,
Everyone is searching for material of strongest and vibrant heart,
To build the bridges sturdy and eternal!
But hearts are delicate and soluble to state of affairs of life,
So, it breaks and link fall down, and
Every one becoming island with its own soul!