On the barren
head of this plateau,
you're the midpoint.

A curious moon peeps
from the curve
of your neck,
flooding the
shoulders of solitude.

With a cello
between legs,
and a bow made
of moonbeams
you string those
rare beads of a tune.

Birth of sound
makes the sleeping
auras trembled.

Ancient souls explode,
fragmented forces
drink fresh
transcendence.

I've always been on this journey
Of floating with words.
Looking for you
I travelled across the
Sacred skies of many hearts,
Forming and breaking constellations
With the language of my ribcage.
For a thousand years
I walked through the veins of love
Wondering about the face
Of your ****** mind.
Your were the white heads
Of those tulips
I held each morning before smelling
Your absence inside them.
A constant search, still going on
As all the words of my poem
Keep running towards your smile.
Just answer me with your hands
Will you be my muse?

Sighs of the afternoon forest
Grow faint
Like ripples on the water
One after another.

Moments so close yet distant
I place on your lap
As the heart belongs to the wild.

Icing up the evening
Mountain blues of your eyes are
Now quiet at my palms.

We're only a thousand miles
Away from home.

Everytime you bring me back from
The shore of infinity
Dragging my soul through waves
Sprinkling foamy stardust on my eyelids.
I open them
And find your shadow more pale
Than yesterday's dream.
You carry my wings
Your shoulders under my feathers
Expand wider than western horizon.
I melt and spread
Like a field of sunny tangerine
On your patient chest.
An ocean that is sweeter than freedom
Deeper than the blues of Pacific.

Looking at the birds
Little girl thinks,
"How sweet it would have been
If I had wings."

Looking at the girl
Caged birds sing,
**"No birds would be flying in the sky
If humans got wings."

Hanging downward
Leafy branches try to taste
The tangibility of earth.
Melted sundrops on the plains
Roll with grass blades
Welcoming the dark
To kiss his tangerine love.
Songs of the returning wings
Make the sky more grayish-green
Than those foggy heads
Of awaiting trees.
Wearing a cloak
Of tomorrow's  serendipity
Evening comes home.

Inside the warmth of an afternoon café
Her romantic eyes
Clicked pictures of the fallen sun,
And how its golden pollens
Rolling down from
Her lover's caffeinated cheek.
Empty chairs around them
Empty dishes and cups,
Unsaid emotions of people already left
Stirred the silence inside her.
Behind the window glass
She felt another world revolving,
Devoid of quiet laziness.
Festival of various faces with
Running colours in hands
Flying words in hearts
Were re-cycling the myth of time
Or maybe moulding some lives out of it.
Her amazed self collected
Those moments or movements,
Like a child snatches from the wind
Pebbles of rainbow after rain.
And when he asked her
If she wanted to take anything,
Without opening her lips
She answered,
"I have just taken in everything."