So many ways I think thee
my thousand stir of dreams have broken
as the drifted clouds
as the ripples of ocean
petals of the roses have grown wither
my moon's eyes have covered with shadow
sometimes her pale black mystic
face has made an illusion,
as the chaos has risen within the bean
I have alienated through time,
isolated from you,
my love,
It has grown again as stratified
rock beneath the ocean
layer by layer in course of time
where the footprint
of ripples marked as the sign of life
It has metamorphosed
and seemed compact
with a few traces of tears,
on the dark stone
where till it's a little bit alive -

@ Musfiq us shaleheen

I don't expect you to understand
Why I recoil when
You extend your arms and hands
Why I brace for impact
Within the trajectory of your touch
It is warm,
and I am cold.
It is wind,
and I am stone.

the creative juices
hath ebbed away
there is none
to put on display

a spell of dryness
hath taken hold
there will be no offerings
to be written bold

the situation
is most extreme
this position
doth make one scream

for a word to be placed
upon the page
yet none appear
it's such an outrage

the creative juices
hath gone into recess
and the poetess
hath need to confess

in the morrow
a verbiage bonanza
may dawn
but until then
all looks
forlorn