I burn pages,
And I burn my dreams.
The fire feels warmer,
Knowing they’re mine.

As ashes,
They look dull,
Hopeless and weak.
But only those who look close
Will find the shimmer of the stardust,
Full of ecstasy and valour.

Butterfly and Rose
Out of his cocoon,
Tiptoed a butterfly.
Young and naive,
He soared through the sky.

Up and down
And through the canopies
He flew towards
The most beautiful sight.

Caught up in the charms
Of Rose’s soft petals,
He rushed to touch her,
Unaware of her thorns.

But alas,
There wasn’t a way
That she could tell him
About her deadly thorns.

She watched as he fell
Into the loams,
The ephemeral love in his arms,
Inevitably to wither away.

Inside my body,
And inside my mind,
There’s a little child,
A child with colours—bittersweet.

I know not if she’s sad or happy,
But I do know she loves to paint,
My body in a colourful tent,
So I let her be.

Now that my body has grown,
The tent doesn’t fit.
But I do not complain,
For I do not wish to see her eyes watery lit.

Every night I lose my sleep,
In wondering,
If she could have a world’s peep.
But alas! My darling,

Will never receive love akin to mine in the world.
Even if the tent becomes cold,
I must stay.
I don’t think I should ever let her go,
Despite my body’s dents.

Being smothered in a colourful tent,
Is better than seeing my darling woe.

If your thought was a sin,
Even hell is heaven to me.

Divine hips
Which sway with elegance;
Soft lips
Which utter the sweetest words.

These gifts allure
Others more than myself.
For my womanhood
Gave me the greatest of gifts.

My mind—a burning star.
Shines bright on its own.
My soul—oh so unique,
Is complete by itself.

My womanhood
Gave me the greatest gifts,
I say again.
It gave me the strength
To rise by myself.

My brain is the prettiest crown,
My head will ever adorn.

Your pretty pretty eyes,
Don’t look at me with them.
Your pretty pretty smile,
Goshhh stop it!!
The pretty pretty hair,
And the pretty pretty you,
But all I end up saying is oh cool.

I miss the days
When the stars would smile
And the trees talked about you.

When your voice was still music
And your hair; my night sky,
I truly cherished it.

I miss the moments
When art was you
And everything else was you.

Writing about you
And dreaming endlessly,
I exceptionally enjoyed.

But I never miss
The days that I
Regretted missing reality for you.

I swim with fate
Across my sea of stars.
In it I’m never late,
For the sea is only mine.

I gave my stars
To the empty seas
And I never fear
For my sea is only mine and mine.

And when my sea
Was stripped of its stars,
The light went out not once,
For my fate still swims with me.

I worship
The glass deity,
Inside the temple of insanity;
My temple of insanity.

With spirals for eyes,
And darkness for lips,
She shines in the moonlight.
My goddess, I bow to her.

She gazes
With eyes of pity,
Inside the temple of insanity;
My temple of insanity.

Her skin was glass
And I was oblivious to my nails.
Her blood bathed in the moonlight,
My goddess, please forgive me.

On her throne
I'm sitting,
Inside the temple of insanity;
My temple of insanity.

The Moon was a quiet soul,
With not much to smile for.
But oh, the Sunny shade was no bore,
Of course, she was loved by the universe.

The love they shared capsuled
Them in their own galaxy;
The galaxy the little Star
Was oblivious to.

Oh, the Star
Quiet and awkward.
All she meant
Was trouble and boredom.

How she longed to touch the Moon,
To smile and be smiled at,
To love and be loved.
But of course she was too naive.

She was just a young Star,
Too absorbed in her reveries.
She was just a tiny Star,
Invisible compared to the mighty Sun.

When the Moon told the Star
Of his love, she flushed,
Thinking all his poetry was a
Reference to the tiny Star.
But alas, she wasn’t the only star.

Then the eclipse arrived
And the Moon and the Sun
Shared their beautiful kiss.
The Star, however, could not share
Her confusion, so she cheered along.

Of course the Sun was brighter than her,
The Sun was warmer, wiser.
The Sun was everything the moon needed;
The Sun was everything the silly star could not be.

Wreathe of lies
Adorn my body with your flowers,
Your flowers of lies—warm and afresh.

Pin them hard,
Till my skin becomes rosy,
And cheeks a little lake,
For the flowers must not dry.

Pin them with needles,
Close to my chest,
Where my treasure lives—
Alone and alive.

What have I become,
But a wreath of your lies.
The flowers withered
And the sweetness lost forever.

Unpin the needles,
Tear the flowers,
I’d still be bleeding,
For I held onto your thorns,
Knowing you’re a rose.

What am I
Under my clothes?

My bones, my skin,
Under a tapestry of deceit.

To Jesus I was taught to bow,
But alas, my garments lie.

Who am I
Under my clothes

What will my soul define,
When my clothes give away the false.

Perhaps I need the right clothes,
And a change might restore what’s lost.