Yellows
Colour symbolising Texas
Exs and excess of sun
Joy forbidden in a country
Of baboonish law and minds gone

Yellows
Hue derived in rare
Brightness but a shade well-done
Bet your daughter's unaware
Of a background ****

Pennyborad rides
At the Spanish night
Lone bright mind
Sick of being tied

With her hands full of colour
With her pen raging thunder
Out with electric light

Risk a fortune
Risk a torture
Just for the sake of fun
Risk the rapture
Hidden in the fracture
Of the concrete sun

Aimless rides
On the spring kite
Lone monologue nights
Afraid of being high

With his hands empty of fear
With his strings sounding clear
Out with electric light

66 six poems of searching for lawyers
(And) lacerating in paper lament
My muse being vamped by the land

Black and white, out-inside
Making no sense, as a tree
Falls into a drained sea.
A mountain is nothing but me

They allure and bid us to
Stay content in freezing cool
August night and sleep beside
The ones that kiss beneath the starry light

They consent each promise to expire
For no word shall bond a folk agile.
For a pang in heart must drive
Those willing to abide to loving right

And on August Night
A slumber army of blue lanterns will proclaim
Them the citizens of realm of pristine men

And thus in pitch
Of darkness full of heavenly within
The stars will swallow sin.
(And kiss you on a chin)

An adroit runner,
A plethora of harbound texts.

Makes a way - way out;
A way out of the common mass.

Sharing nights in paper;
Digging up a hole and
Cuddling in;

An adroit runner
Worships the abundance
Of the ink.

Does it, does it
Make her heart speak?
Does it, does it
Cut her tongue weak?

An adroit runner
Will run on and then she'll lead me in
Make a way, way out;
A way out of the common sin.

Sharing nights in paper;
Digging up a hole and
Cuddling in;

An adroit runner
Worships the abundance
Of the ink.

Guitar

I'm leaving the sound
Escaping the round
Of looping my memories' run

And shades of my face
Ever bound to seek grace
And the hole in my head's on a lace

Cough breaks
Voice aches
Can't scream, my whispers in pain

But-I
love;
To-night's
Dove;
It is bound to deliver the saint
And mortal grace

Picturesque, content and vigil,
Bearing sigil
Of her inner lion at her mouth's gate.

Loving more of dusty morning
Than I ever did her groin.
Wonder still on why she is irate.

Running down a slippy spiral;
Tempo vivo going viral;
Mind is gold and loud, words are in the shade.

Fix me, so I wouldn't lose.
Fix my brain so I would crave
For blessings that my mother chooses.

Hurt's not me, for giving up
Is same as letting sand and dust
Slip languidly through slender arms.

Fix me, since these poems do
Appear of lines without a rhyme.
Fix me so I knew who I am writing too.

She's a fragrance
Bottled in my mind's
Peripheral scribes.
My tutorial on how to stand

And my spine is giraffe's neck or,
Fixed-be-not, the Pisa Tower.
And I'm bound to be lower
But she hits my back and stirs me forth.

Liquid paper, solid gold
She's a gas of dizziness,
Though a simpler boy
You could never find on earth.

She's a quarrel in a body,
Younger muse for my hoorah.
Like the Russians say,
Blood and milk. However, in the case,
Porridge and strong coffee.
My perfected
Oh, my tailored
Healthy diet for the mind state.

A trio of compound realms I own:
A smile, a rainbow and unknown.
May I bake them? Fetch a pie
Of fruitful colours? Why
Won't it abound with the sky?

A trio of compound selves I bear.
Each dwells without and within.

Tell,
The way you cheated
On a chemistry exam, back when
Shells
Of a soul so tender
Existed holding not my hand.

Cornered,
in the dark of ever-rumbling mind
by the brain itself.
Wanted,
in the rapture of a different kind -
pictured in a cell.
Why so,
what builds a basin for a lady
for a boy would dig a suicide well?

Strolling
cross the lanes not flooded
with the folk, but with a rain:
Leaning
as perpetually the salty drops would be
an artist - cheap, exciting, vain.

A cypress tree.
She lives in the shade;
She Radiates sounds
Voracious with fresh.
It conveys what my skin
never been
Exposed to. I'm green,
Much greener than slim
Of the evergreen shape.
Is it sinful to crave
For a nap at her lap
Or to merge
With the scent of her sweat?

Fools, hey!
Look at the kid.
A cliche, you'd say:
A mournful glance,
Cerulean eyes, sarcastic wits,
A show-off. His stance
Is vivid with scratch on the knee.
A messy mop of the blonde
Straw on the head.
And yet
He's cleaner than us
Would ever be set.
With hands
As cold as the moon
And hotter than we'd ever melt.

Have the Mays always been rude
To the colour of my eyes?
I cant see but the deep blue
When my brain sees you,
Oh! When my brain sees you.

And I crave for your hair much;
Arms are empty without your touch.

I am fearless
Only in my dream.

A pinkish streak is
On her cheek
As rays are painting
On her skin,
Dispersed with window glasses in
A brown frame.
A theatre of colours
In her name.

Know a temple.
One, voracious with a pumping sound.
Thoughts are stomping on the marble
Floor. Was that a wound?

That has got its ivy growing.

See my fingers diving
Deep into the pillow of its dust.

Oh my sexless thing,
My chaos of the colour

Feel me lying at your arms.

I am
in concrete,
Suspended in youth
I don't seek.

Stretching asleep
In a bliss
I'm warmed by the heat
Of my wings.

Build me up music, oh friend,
And scream against sand.
No matter how loud, we can
Irate or content.

We'll put it to music, my friend;
Hum against holes in our heads;
My lines at the tip of your tongue
Curving. We will hand-in-hand

Devote us to business so vibrant and long.
As no matter time -
No matter
What land.

Imagine the world inverted,
The colours that alter the shades.
See, up above, the transparent blue of the brilliant today
Change into orangish haze.

Make up your mind to paint
The brick into scarlet and black.
See how cerulean lifts from the waters
To seize the pure gold of the sand.

Gerbera daisy awaits
Her feet tip the bottom of glass.
Transvaal daisy,
With legs oh so lazy,
Hurting her beautiful ***

I shall be
On time to see
Amaranthine tulips of mountaintops be laid
Into a single sea.

I shall stray
But live to-day
For future flights may change my realm
Into a game.

Tickling grows
In heels and toes -
An itching motive to move forth
To what is hot,
To what is cold;
To all I am, to all I'm not.
To all I will, to all I won't;
To all I hate, to all I want.

A sun in zeal
I'm lying on a dustbed
Unaware of the flowers just behind what's sad.
It is a day
When ties would never stop to
Contemplate the sudden impenetrability of May.
A night it is
For birds to settle back in nests of fragile straw,
The nests I wonder being missed.
The moon is here
Yet lights have not gone out,
To light my way to dustbed and the rest.

Under dusty cushions on a couch,

She keeps none but a lighter;
Lingers avid flash in dusk
And a smiley ray of photons
On her slender arms.

Under drops of southern after-rainbow arcs,

Upper limbs resemble straws
Posed between the lamp and me.
Stags of pure and yellow rows
Brush their antlers on my lids;

Draw a slit between her lips.

Morning, Nine-five,
To the tiny flowers in your garden,
And celestial ongoing bloom.
To the cadence of the sudden
Bird awakened in the noon.

Morning, Nine-five,
To a drop of light that slithers down
Down the smooth of shins and to your ankles.
Morning to the heedless way it gowns
Tips of feet unhid,
Naked toes uncovered by your blanket.

Morning, Nine-five.

The everlasting wisdom perpetually transforms. It narrates unknown,
Uttering the verses of its love in winds and snows.

It rains and calms from day to day,
It ceases only in the summertime;
For a halt
Is also gay in its own way.

It will urge precipitations,
Warn us,
Coax us to beat in flocks.
While it never leaves a mark
On the azure dome,
For the ceiling is the face,
It has traces on the boiling rock,
Ancient earth,
And on my holey socks.

The holy "wisdom" is
Merely the way perceived
By me.
Solely an imaginary bliss.

Though the mind elevates,
Sublimes it. After, states
That the chemical occasional coition,
Which is way up high,
Bears all the answers,
To my weird childish whys.

No dark, no light
And no extremes the Lord has made.
No rights, no beauty and no fights.
The only are: the null; the one,
And every bit that dwells since then
Is built upon a hierarchy of a mind
Of a man.

Keeping eyes against the sun,
I dress air
With my lips.

Time will seize
When what's to share
Fills your blooming lungs.

Anna-banana,

Keep your vessel shared,
Keep its match along the wind.
Sixty million thousand metres
Seem no job with people in.

Keep your heart shut open,
Keep its tempo up the beat.
Sixty seconds on a sofa
Are eternity with (pointing at myself)

Inadvertently
It slips to my realm.
Believe, I never wanted it so bad
To tickle stone of my shell;
To flow;
To be my well.

And it - the weather -
Having never been anticipated,
Bends, transforms
Into a weatherly incipient ******.

It is yet dry -
A channel readied a garment full of petals,
Dressed a fragrant flock of grass - to try
To hide
Beneath the rocky routes. It marches
Casting fragrant smells of flowers.

A channel tumbles water,
Runs the torrent forward
Where? I'm eager to know why
It seems to me
A neighbourhood to life.

Throw me in the chartreuse fields
So I can leave my pain behind
Violets and Daffodils will turn
Me into their kids

Buy me out of sable walls
So I can see the other side
Violets and Daffodils will kiss
My spine

Say white, say blue
On a spring afternoon

Whisper out loud
O-hoo

Take me out for a walk on moon
So i can plant lovat' on stone.
Violets and daffodils will grow
On a pale ball.

Lie with me on frosty grass
Keep your feet above the stars.
Violets and daffodils will pass
But we can last.

An adroit runner,
Living in plethora of hardbound texts,
Makes a way - way out,
Out of the common mass.

Sharing nights in paper,
Digging up a hole and cuddling in,
An adroit runner
Worships the abundance of the ink.

She will not perturb herself when time's out.
Nights are days. She has no time to speak.
Wonder,
Whether it cajores her to be stout
Wonder,
If it cuts her weak.

I won't beard the lion's den
An adroit runner
Will run on and then
She will lead me in,
So sane.

Verse:
Trembling right beneath my skin,
Gaining tempo of my heartbeat,
Splitting in the 7 shades -
The Ray of light that never ever fades.

Master, hold back all the lords
Faking, making my sense worse.
Give it all and take it back,
There's nothing that will ever lack.

Chorus 1:
Beat, Heart, oh so wild
Beat, Heart, no not mine

Verse 2:
Cuddling on a Sunday night,
Waking up and praying to this light,
Searching for a truth in time -
"Will it last?" or "Will it be alright?"

Iris on a verge of death.
Carpe Diem, Flash and all his friends.
Me and You have found it now,
Me and You are as one.

Chorus 2:
Beat, Heart, oh so wild
Beat, Heart, no-not mine
Me, You are as one
Heart beats heartbeats as one.

"I" s and "Why"s. Part 2

What if butterflies we are
Keen to love for day or two?
What if shared boats mark
What is old but dwells anew?

What if buttercream we are;
Smoothly beaten creamy milk;
Hermitage for sugar are,
What is sweet and kind, but serene.

Do we fear the phony oaths
Crafting lines at home?
Do we run or do we float?
Are we one or sheer alone?

I feel
like sliding through a canyon.
I am
A tiny microbe blanketed by wind. And thus
The spring reminds me of the eyes
That guard
The frontier of my ego and my will.
Why am
I anxious being vested in the gaunt silks?
Why do
The meadowlarks and blooming April
Bring perpetually the joy
Not just
Today?
I say...

intrepid dive into a universe of flowers
a tiny plunge in waters. i
can't hear thy name
a torrent swells the echo from your mouth,
reflecting from the roses. why
are not thy thorns yet safe?