Dreams breathe in slumber,
terrorized by the dying light.

A peninsula of thoughts,
floats in the sea of night.

The sheets wrestled
with the aching limbs.

The flesh entangled together,
breathing a melodious hymn.

Don't you want to sleep?
You must be tired.

We had our fun now,
you must retire.

Go now into an abyss,
to be dissolved unseen.

Heal your fractured memories,
from the blood of my peeled skin.

We shall meet again in summer,
when this air smells of rain.

as strangers, as lovers
but with our faces changed.

They tell me
I write okayish.

I smile and greet them
as the sun greets
the minarets in the desert,
without a purpose.

Why don't you write something on love,
they say,
something about a terrible broken past,
it sells,they love it.
they relate to it.

I tell him,
I don't get the vibes out of it,
love sometimes feels like
eating leftover chips at
a mediocre burger joint.

I prefer watching dogs
playing in the rain.

atleast they never pretend.

Another day goes by
as my temple of verses rests desolated,
with her laments succinct.

this curfew of imagination,
keeps the pilgrims (of thoughts)
sobering behind closed doors.

The valley is being robbed
of its flowers and fervor.

We both are dying slowly
but not as we once dreamed,
In winter,when it rains saffron
instead of snow.

Sometimes while sleeping
I greet the twin sisters.

Subtle faceless apparitions,
that love to giggle
while skipping the ropes to reality.

coalesced dreams, some call them
Without an end or beginning.

in a state of drunken stupor,
set by feasting on the flesh of stars
they drive me back to the black lake
where we once buried the moon

effigies of time, burn on the shores,
the lake soaking its ashes.
does the time ever weep?
for what it has lost,
even in the interconnected dreams

an undecipherable hymn now,
colludes with my stupor
as the faceless twin sisters smile.

I shall remember nothing
except for their holy unison
and the figments of thread
sewing their thumbs together

Come here,
sit next to me,
don't leave me tonight.

watch, as the emeralds melt
in the turquoise rich sky
and the winds of winter
dry the sky’s wounds,
through mellow howlings.

this cold is neither bright or dark.
like our love, it is mysterious and tasteless.
come raise a glass of wine to our love,
let it spill and purify the snow,
let it drown us, till we become reflections,
aligning perfectly in infinite dusted mirrors.

don't leave me tonight,
come here,
sit next to me.

He lives through his sketches,
surviving on frugal meals,
mostly bread and wine.

Night and day,
are melancholic mirrors,
for him.

He trespasses them,
ignoring the sense of time,
to create a vortex of visions.

Countless albino butterflies,
now bathe in his color palette,

Color-Soaked wings,
now seek the blank canvas,

A Kamikaze of hues is imminent,
for this art to strive
and for the artist to escape,
the meddling reality.