Writing is
the frozen music
of an ellipsis -
a silent song
of a lonesome poet
who sings in the dark
between howling winds
crossing swords
in the white shades
of unseen things -

a winter on the pole
on whose  obverse side
there's Rio,
and mirth,
and dancing,
and the sun's critique
of hegemony.

© LazharBouazzi

love games the icing
forlorness is not a sin
longing not the end

somewhere out along
the edge of sometime
before never

is that one you call
fall asleep to dreaming
of

that one light gleams
her eyes seek yours too
amidst the dark

the withering blues
the false facade of hopelessness
just raise your head

one day calm those needs
find her in the
clouds the breeze

she is there real
real as any dream
you seek

call to her
she is
listening

If only I could write you  a poem
From a music perspective
I'd scream all day that
I hate that I love you.
I'd smoke ****
get really  high
Numb my days with morphine
and totally blackout

If only I could write you a poem
From a death perspective
I'd remind you of dreams
Strive for what you believe in
give a ****
and for as long as you are alive
never say I wish i knew

If I write you a poem
From a poet perspective
I won't tell you that my heart is broken
I'd say Its been wrenched
Castrated,
It's an empty weight
It has been ruthlessly devoured


If only I could write you a poem
From a love perspective
I'd argue that it's only a feeling
that needs more analysis
It's the only acceptable
form of insanity globally