The more I fall,
better I get.
In your visions of mundane mud
I try to cleanse through my soul
Where the heavens,
these locutions are streaming me?
I really don't know.
Just pouring in the cup of
this wonderful poetic journey
My heart...
Scribbling.
The more I fall,
better I get.
In your reflectors of dig dust
I try to scratch each wound,
Again, I'm ready to behead,
For my words can't ever be dead.
-err1585 aka Ritika

In the chills of those sprinklers
These shivering hands are bleeding.
Bleeding the ink on the bright glamour of whiteness,
And roughness yet serene looks of this inked morn
I cannot but just able to break these concrete wall
A thousand ton probably,
I'm underneath this hard-core stuff!
Gulped the last **** of splashed pity,
Can't hark anymore.
**** your ****** core!
I don't really see any empathy or comprehensiveness
In the pale skin of yours!
Hey, ever you see through those reflectors!
Well, I do.
Thanks for your *** to be concerned.

The waves of those blurred mists
Are just calling for rhyming
But I told that I'm just a poor one
I can't really write poetic stuff,
Though I love to call it poetry in motion,
Oh! This gush, is what I'm scribbling
And not really always the sweet winds.
Those light steams just caressed,
Tried to cool me down, calm me,
Clasping my lids and just trying to listen
What it has to say to me,
I'm finding my solace,
In the purest rides of clouds.
Switching off the whirlpools,
These threads of air, resting me
Making me dip inside the slumbers of peace.
The waves of those blurred mists,
Are now what I'm dreaming.
Awake I'm scribbling.
©err1585

Move. Like that slow wind.
Flow, steadily.
Let every heart listen you.
Those hearts, which can hark,
Hark too deep.
Keep moving.
Let the eccentricities sprinkle,
Not just fill in the voids opaque
But translucent, invisible.
Be silent, serene, calm,
Singing your own song,
Make your direction,
Follow no trail...
Move. Singularly​, steadily, slowly,
Like that unplugged music,
Those unheard whisperings,
Those withering spiraling blowy
Tranquilized​ winds.
©err1585

Flinging those hairs,
Covered with goldens,
She was strolling
On the flames of hell
Metamorphosing it to
Paradise of love and warmth.
©err1585

Her cinnabar thee never realised.
She filched those twinkles to restore you.
You left 'she' scrambled each day.
All in dizziness of lacerations.
You pinched she's vesicles so strong,
Stems heart is now acumens of kills.
Thee never saw her dark dwells.
Still she worked to pull thy mislead strings
and set aside everything else,
You never saw she was more neath,
Underneath, near abyss.
She had now, in fallen deep.
©err1585