Trigger trigger trigger
Unhappy,
Flesh wounds sting like poison ivy
But never put me out of my misery
Because why would I ever be granted the courtesy
Of a bullet to the brain or breast?
Choked but not suffocated;
The darkness anticipated
But never met.

The memories hold me down,
Pin me down,
Perforate my insides
(And all the rest)
**** my competence and
Haunt my sentience.
Usurp my every thought,
Curl me up into a ball,
Bash my head against the wall,
Hurt me and make me sprawl.
Bruised and battered from the crawl-

It’s incredible just how the mighty fall.

The fish requests for

asylum, with a suitcase –


I open my mouth.

Back 'home' after years.

What will I come across there?


Can it still exist?

Leila,
sometimes I wonder if people's hearts,
are as dark as your hair.
Sometimes I wonder if their hate,
is deeper than your beauty,
and that smile you share.
Sometimes I wonder if their greed,
is as enormous as the void I find in your eyes,
which nothing but finding hope,
of care.
Leila, forgive them.

Leila,
is that song you look for,
when fires smolder you're entity's emotions.
is that song you look for,
when you should of yourself be caution.
is the song you look for,
when you want to cleanse your soul,
cleanse it of people's defiled ambition.
Leila, forgive them.

Leila,
with your earned sorrow you passed an ocean,
and carried a dead father's watch,
a watch to remind a paralyzed mother,
of for whom she once ran for, with devotion.
She once prayed for time to pass,
To see her love,
And now, time turned into a compulsion,
That stops her from living,
And tuned into a con,
Instead of a meditation.
Leila, forgive them.

Leila,
Drunken sun -
Aches from loneliness
In the space where noone it,she shares
Drunken sun -
The vacancy of company it faces
Keeps rotating there,In endless mazes
Drunken sun -
It shows its pain, it spreads blazes
That's the only difference between you,
And the drunken sun
you keep to yourself all the pain
In all cases,
Drunken sun,
Is trapped there,in the spaces
just like you, in the past's vases.

Vast the landscape I watch that rolls out, ragged,
Before my eyes, hurt words describing, haggard.
Moby soothes me but a little as I watch still fractured sights
Of what was and is in Chernobyl.
Marshlands filled with death and mutation,
Homely houses putrid with abandonment and radiation.

Broken tokens of people’s former lives and loves –
Where are they now?
Their hairless dolls, sitting in the middle of rooms,
Bathtubs, broken and oblique, empty.
Soap washes memory and nothing else away.
The sky has spoken; it is broken.

Push the poison out to sea. To see
They hadn’t time to leave a memory,
But ran, already dead while living,
Not allowed to gather souvenirs.
There’s nothing left for them here.
But did they die?
Nobody told us where they went,
Or why
This happened.

They are gone now, dispersed in Eurasia I suppose,
Like ash in the wind, like their future or past ghosts.
They haunt the places, the buildings and the waters,
Engulfing fish, and drying fungus on the northern trees,
Watching wolves still move through winter freeze,
Still beautiful in the taiga sun.
Tainted yet rife with energy not destroyed,
Trying to paint its passion on the sides of walls,
To venerate the people here and their lives,
Their animals, their clothing only frozen.

As thunder put paid to my tranquility,
I ventured out of my darkened room,
Into my fecund garden,
Amidst blooms I'd lovingly brought forth,
Unblemished, unexceptional.
Fraught with anxiety,
I searched,
For peace, joy, equanimity.
And then the Gale brought me,
A shock of pink.
A battered displaced bloom,
Torn from home by violent gusts of wind,
Left to the mercies of strangers,
Disparate, unconnected,
Yet vivid, ablaze.
Ephemeral perhaps,
But substantial.