give me
a needle and a thred
at least
to sew my heart
back in place
just to see
if its beating again
those outchesting pulses
when hearing your name
im a puppet
stiched
by the flames
on your tongue
that keep me alive
healed
by your water that pours
every little flower
in me

cardiogram
the pulses
of my verdant heart
when yours
blooms inside it
but the fear
of letting go is strong
and i chose butterflies
over aching petals
in the weakness
of the dark

my slumber heart flickers
at the thought of you
how can you be?

its you and the moon
sleeping
wide awake
underneath and above
full of naivity

careless like the ocean breeze
and hearted
like a blank page
on a old notebook full of words
that mean
the ultimate
and complete
nothingness

maybe im dreaming
in a pebble-free glass
on a fire without the ashes
in a gaze without temptation
in a kiss without the tingling on the lips and a love without edge and cutting glasses
sometimes im dreaming
just like that

Unseen and uncounted,
did I sat and look
around –pathetic girl–
the only sound heard
the gentle move
of me easing myself out
your lucky hand.

Shadows casting by
the thin rays of moonlight,
the gaps in your heart.
Gnarled fingers
wagging at me
when my carved
feelings fight
and perform
their macabre dance.

Sighs.
And then I'm
just breathing again,
trapped in bornout faces,
lost in wrong places,
with just a superboy in my chest.

Managed to force
my way out,
doors locked,
lights and eyes shut,
just you testing
my sour mouth,
before my heart is done.

As a gentle pulse of my verdant heart,
caressing my gracious unrivalled dreams,
you are the color to my shallow art,
I observe you and at once my soul beams.

You were the nitid glimmer that saw me when I was in the purity of dark,
as if your captivating eyes told me
between us lays love's invincible spark.

Honey, your love shuddered my withered heart,
like the breeze that crosses rills and shakes oaks,
with the abscense of you my world falls apart,
to the ashes of our warmth die my hopes.

Roses are red, violets are blue,
I'm out of my head while thinking of you.


  



Writing a program
is just like
following your dream

You know what you want
as your output
but it takes time to figure
which path to take
and you start with whatever you have.

You never realise the errors
you make along the road,
and sometimes ,
And you don't realise them,
till the end.

Some errors , you know
you solve them easily
And to debug some ,
you have to change the direction
And some errors , may make you rewrite    
and restart all over again .

But when it is all over
and you reach the place you want to
The satisfaction and excitement
makes up for all the problem faced
And we get ready to make
a new code, follow a new dream .

My friends have all unfollowed me
on social media,
since I started following them on the streets,
on their way back from work,
when they're all alone,
unprotected from their deep sea thoughts.

They know that now I only dream their dreams
and live their lives,
like a professional xerox machine.

The world stopped walking and now it's planning its suicide,
hitting Capital points of its body,
every day.

We all have words but few own meaning,
we all wish for clean keyboards but
no one has something that isn't ***** to put out there.

We're part of a group of solitary mad people,
digital born followers,
with no one left to lead,
with no paths to choose from
and no clean clothes for the our own memorial.

the day we live in
is the day we fly.