Oftentimes, you realize, that the shaking of an intangible void, desperate, clinging before it too is lost on an otherworldly transform of otherwise incomprehensible, nightmarish, or null thoughts, buried between the conceptions of self-deliverance and a bone-knuckled release into an endlessly exploding oblivion, or the intangible touch of a thousand tiger's treasuries.

My silent little dear
snoozes in his cradle
beyond the noises
I can no longer hear.

The quiet drip of
rain and sink,
the swoosh of
inside air circulating,
the vibrations of life
I can hear only with
mental captions on,
are the inaudible sway,
that separates you from me.

Can you hear my smile
with closed eyes,
will you love the
silence or the noise?

Will you delight in
birdsongs or  
in fluttering wings?

Will you laugh at
the music of the spheres
or delight in quiet
thoughts and contemplation?


Child of my April dreams
and September haunts
who breathes in the
whitewash walls of my soul,
what you choose to see or hear,
at first walk, I will protect  
under the signing of my hands.


*This is a poem about my looking back at my baby self, before I contracted Scarlet Fever and became  near deaf, wondering what I would choose if I had the option to hear or be deaf.

Your eyes shine brighter than the sun,
                    they make it look so bleak,
your eyes, more beautiful than the night sky,
                   make the universe's beauty seem so weak.

Your hair, oh, they fall much so perfectly o'er your face,
                   and those streaks, the way they sneak out from behind your hair,
are like Picasso's finest stroke,
                   like that one perfect sun ray coming out of dark clouds, cutting through air.

Your smile, the most beautiful wonder in the universe,
                  so perfect, it would make the golden ration obsolete,
And those shiny white beautiful teeth that brighten this dark world,
                 Make the world so colourful, and more importantly, my life, complete.

Your voice, like the song of a Nightingale,
                 So melodious and harmonious that even the best singers would shy away,
So mesmerising, that once listened to,
                 One might find it impossible to stay away.

Your touch, like a feather brushes against one’s skin,
                 So soft, yet so warming that it would melt the harshest of hearts,
Your touch, gentle as silence,
                 Speaks volumes for itself, and you, how wonderful a person thou art.

Your laughter could heal all wounds,
                Its so beautiful that even the Gods would come down to witness it,
The way you cover your face while you’re at it,
               Makes you look, the prettiest lady, finer by every bit.

You are as perfect as perfect can be,
                 You are the eighth wonder,
That people would **** to be know to,
                 As beautiful as Aphrodite, that you’d make a man wonder.

You are more precious than the life itself,
                 You are the reason people still have hope,
You are the definition of perfection,
                 Your talks are so flipping dope!