Like snowflakes, you
fall on me to understand love.
I sit on a toadstool to write a poem.

When I think of stars
you want to know me to sit on the
grass, to filter the truth of pain.

A torch misbehaves,
when the sun dips and the moon
refuses to rise. Milk was not milk.

Put on hold your pain,
outside our love Your tears fall on
my hands to become flowers.

I go to the milk tree to
pay back my debt. You rub my arm
gently. I shed my negatives.

Paradigm? Man says
ghosts live. A snake never leaves
her eggs. My poems remain intact.

To divide the absolute
I have broken my arms. No enlightened
thought grieves. I shut my eyes.

It was a majestic fall.
I am reading myself in dark to discover
my fire in the sands of time.

I will start a new life,
cutting one by one, all the masks to
see the stigmas of the moon, who smiles.

You suffer, nothing
comes to your mind. Like you are fondling
your wounds lying in a tomb.

I will not steal your
face after the disaster of losing faith
in the religion of power.

I will not stop kissing
the red flames of bargain. The tears
will decide, no mausoleum will be made.

Go to dharma. Between
sorrow and romance, tender poems
come in crowd. The pain uplifts the temple.

I forgave my past.
My seers lived on the stars to predict
the tremulous life to come. I stand firm.

Ups and downs, I
pray to myself to draw a lip line
to drop the luxurious gift of rich gods.

A ghost truth
levels down,
the traffic. You enter
into catatonic stage.

Rage and anguish
will ask,
for the price of blood
flown down the river.

Listening
with the eyes. Leaffall,
luteus, music of descent
on grass.

A dust storm
settles on sill. I will
look through the window, at
a setting sun, unadored.

Skin to skin,
blood to blood, can there be a
digital love? To whom I address?

The first pain starts
from birth. One can not live in
the crowd. What is life's philosophy?

You will not be paralyzed.
Let it be homecoming. The intensity
takes you to discover the tragedy.