She who died in summer.
     She who died on train.
She who died at dawn.
     She who died in class.
She who died in kindle garden.
     She who died at each corner.
            
Only she who get evolved.
          She who is a dream now.

Pack of lies explode
        as a match stick  
lighten gasoline.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

If she’d said something
I wouldn’t be giving upon her
Any where I would have followed her.
I’d haven’t missed her, only
If I’d not have giving upon her.
I know she’ll not miss even a gleam.
And I’d have bring her ice cream,
If she’d said something.

I would have woven
and spin my life round her,
If she’d said something.
I thought she would
be an epicenter of my life.
But when strop cut, I’d gulped
whole solid salty ****.
And I’ll grow dead -eventually- in evenfall.

Nightfall ought to be peaceful,
but it clutches your way like in gears.
A constant, perpetrated picture
keep your head occupied like a
brook flows with babbling sound.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark,
with same old empty felling in the chest.

A breeze brings with aroma of violet.
I lay on sand of salty water,
tides making growling sound.
I spoke to clear sky.
And I spoke to all.

Good bye - All men die.

The sun blazing fiercely,
the moon longed for eagerly,
days draws to a close in quiet beauty,
plugging in cold water is inviting,
the tide of desire running low;
           scorching Summer is now here, My love