When you walk
on the moon in February, I take down
the clouds to become wet.

Your memory lingers.
I gather the monarchs to
play with my pain,

I am not sure, when the
dark moves on to give space to
imprisoned pain.

I will foresee your
beauty to see through the water of tears.
You want to **** the darkness?

The vision of the wounds
appear and disappear. As far as I
remember, the Karma is your Almighty.

What is, and what is
not. You will not reach the end of
love. It haunts you when you sit on the pyre.

Can we speak wordlessly?
What is a crime? You rise on the tall
tree to see the world and fall to smell the dust.

Each word comes from euthanasia.
Who was the last vendor? You want to
purchase, tell me **** the lines.

The soul has a skin.
Keep on changing to rebuild the mind.
Are you ready for the treatment?

How much land you
possess to stand on? Fading of age helps.
One day you will go or I will go.

The sculptor on sand
makes a sculpture of
river flowing without water.

Like we are empty.
The love has dried up in the eyes
to complete the story midway.

This was my seminal
pain. I have to find out to see
the course of the heart will take place.

Hail to you, walking
with me to celebrate on the river.
I don't feel bad, if I was someone else.

The love on the page
smiles. Red lips would leave the
imprint of fingers on the blanket.

Between direct and
indirect lies futurism. How
to take on the incredible?

Will you leave my
hand? I asked the scented wind.
In sanctuary god takes turns.

You speak via eyes. How
to live in sanctum -sanctorum
without dying?

Tearing my memoir,
I beseech eternal peace. Will we
start the war between love and hate?

No soothing effect comes
from the language. Like poems
invite consoles anytimes.

I hate bread. It brings the
holocaust. Ends life. Dying under
the walls. Do you like ruin's?