Today is my dog's second birthday
and I couldn't find
anything worthy to give him yet.
(apart from half a dozen pat on his head).
He lives amid dog lovers, so,
from morning he got a white fluffy towel
a chicken flavoured medicated bone
an orange ball
and a stuffed brown teddy (which was
supposed to be a gift from me,
but my ****** best friend paid for it).
I'm going to thank him for treating me
like I'm the best person in the world
and for making me so rich,
'Cause they say that it doesn't matter
how little money you have
or how small your apartment is,
having a dog can always make you wealthy.
It's raining in my hallway
and only yesterday I removed
my skin from your raincoat.
The dumb walls now stare
at each other
with your portraits
hanging on their drippy chests.
Your charcoal hair melts
flooding the glacial cheekbones
and messes up your lips.
I wonder how a little stain
on your shirt
used to make you irate.
Now your waterlogged selves
are hanged in my hallway
being muddy from head to heart.
This dream is a sloppy forest
and you are the bird
who broods in a labyrinth of trees.
the cage of sleep fractures
with the flutters of my eyelids.
I feel mortified
for uprooting trees one by one
from navels of the earth
only to see you safe at home.
Now the greens lay under my feet
and the sun looks blue
with your screaming feathers
scattered across the sky.
When our home first felt the dark
You illuminated your thoughts,
And light flooded the porch of moon.
Poems were born, and I fell for you
Deeper than sun's root inside wind.
Like a child's friendship with colours
Fills the gap of rainbows,
You inked my words with voices of spring,
Turning love's tint into unaged green.
If I ever lose my house of words
In the bleak land of asleep flowers,
Read me the map of love
Sing me the silhouettes of life
For the sake of the blood we moulded into shape.
As the moon inside this head
Always will reflect
The sunbeams of your tangible thoughts.
Few truths in the unexplored blues,
Their smokey heads sway
Inside your eyes.
I perceive us with your touch.
Holding out an arm
Everyday you point to the distant,
Though our naive feet don't know
How to read a map.
When you are the book
Laying down on my infinity,
I read your caves
With closed eyelids.
Over the surface
Light exhales warm colours
Paying depth to my strokes.
I sit between the in and out
To draw a vanishing point.