a sad pair of human beings
connected under the same sky
but never to each other

Ice cold morning air.
Dark sky everyone still sleeping.
Time to get up.
Kiss you good morning
before I'm leaving.
Start a fresh new day.
I wish you all a beautiful day.
With a smile upon my face
see slightly the light of the moon.
So silent outside.
We will catch up soon.

I am out of words
out of verses
nothing rhymes
with your absence

Yet time stood still
for you 
and life, well life is 
not the same
without your eyes
and the truth of all truths:
a single thought of
you will always move my
soul

But time presses time
and I try to find the word
and rhyme
the voice
of a soul moved:
I think of you
and warmth
overwhelms the silence
the word that rhymes

When the gravity around had lost its pull,
And my universe was falling apart,
Stars they led you to my heart,
The best thing that ever happened to me

Nostalgic of something I am yet to loose,
Melancholy is the companion love would choose,
The ephemeral nature is what I refuse,
Of the best thing that ever happened to me

The pain is real and the wounds they bleed,
Time is a witness of everything I feel,
Only my pillow has seen me weep,
'Coz of the worst thing that ever happened to me

Eons to forge, moments to fall apart,
It's something that aches, something that is,
The way It was never supposed to be,
That is the worst thing that ever happened to me

A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
Turns night to day; blood in their suns
Lights up the living worm.

A process in the eye forwarns
The bones of blindness; and the womb
Drives in a death as life leaks out.

A darkness in the weather of the eye
Is half its light; the fathomed sea
Breaks on unangled land.
The seed that makes a forest of the ****
Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
Slow in a sleeping wind.

A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.

A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.

"shop closed"
the sign never sat
perfectly on any hook
or nook
or cranny
you are an echo bounced
perfectly in every hook
and nook
and crook

"considered sold once broken"
consider it done
once dealt with the devil
his ornamental fairies
consider them whole before
they were bought

"trespassers will be prosecuted"
bedsheets spun out of cobwebs
sandcastles spun in of air
floorboards swallow you in
you dreamt of
anchoring yourself
to the ground

"wine house"
lustre of turbulent pirouttes
trapped within the walls
of wine glasses and
wine-stained dresses
in cadavers' masquerade

"emergency only"
they pushed you in the operating theatre
and cleaned their hands with soap
opera
amputate these phantom limbs
pain has been the only anaesthesia

"in loving memory of"
he is the protagonist
he is the antagonist
and all stories end*
(with)              
                     the former

They told you to fear forest fires.
They told you how dangerous it was.
How destructive.
But they didn't tell you how
it's the earth's way of renewing itself,
of ridding itself of the grit,
so it can rise anew.

I want a forest fire to take over my heart,
to let it burn the walls,
to purge the sorrow,
to take away the mud seeping through the cracks.
It will not be a pretty sight.
Flowers will be set ablaze.
It will destroy
but it will bear.

You will see me standing
in the middle of the trees reborn—
the one who set the forest ablaze,
the one who rose up in smoke.
Changed.
Radiating.
The wind at my command.