Someone pours the oil
on candles. The vultures put on
white shoes. Looks intriguing.

Someone commits suicide.
I have stopped looking. Want to
write a poem in blood.

Let me slice my hand.
I want to know how much it hurts.
Can I make my home on your land?

A skirmish starts at lashes
of sun, squeezing the gist of prudence.
You whisper a shloka.

The dead won't see from
open eyes. The wisdom swells, when
war begins between doors.

You smell like white
roses. The dream of slant eyes
will pass through the sins.

Looking at the stars,
what you said? You wanted to take
me along with you to meet invisible?

Would I jump off the cliff?
Mangoes have ripened on trees.
Existing pain will **** the moon.

Would you give or take?
Willing to lose the bet for god sake?
Fingers crossed, we don't exist.

We talk about the ruins
without a war. What was that *****,
that there was no love in eyes.

Albeit your passion was
unique intriguing. I will sigh my
last poems, if my pain disappears.

Who will condone the green
fire? How long will it burn to
make the ashes sit on my forehead.

You want me to like the
silver stairs. To climb down in a deep
well to disperse the ashes of poems.

Far away loud voices
are giving me a call. Time was
very cruel. Will not stop the sun.

The wholeness is broken.
I collect the shards. Watch your
steps. Not barefoot I will bleed.

The survival of your
skin was important. I have nothing
to say. As you are. Revolution will tell.

In my defeat, I have
won. No mercy, no help. All this is
not mine. I discovered an event.

Finding my muse, my melting
passion, a god. My regret haunts me.
People who were dead started speaking.

Standing on green snow
for the human race, you bring a
message for billowing pride.

The liquid water collapses
in my hands. Flow of ink is weakening.
Everything looks black.

My soul mate always laughs.
Have you ever visited the sun. It
is always burning, but never dies.