Walking through the mist
Barely seeing anything but haunting faces,
Making me feel as though I am a time traveller,
Caught in a present where he does not belong,
As an integral part of an experiment he had no choice in joining,
And when he hits the line between chaos and order
With enough force to divorce such fault, and mix it,
It becomes himself.

It becomes me

So thank God for this mist
That I may not see the evil that is me,
And live the good that is the rest

I want to write about you poetically,
But you don't deserve my time.

On the tube,
on the Jub-
ilee line,
feeling fine.
Almost fine.
Out of ten - nine,
or maybe eight,
if not seven.
Tube ain't heaven
more like hell,
feeling unwell
actually,
I'd give it six
out of ten,
no, five, man,
four, or less,
three, it's a mess
fresh-airless,
crowdy, jeez,
two I'd give,
one, oh, no,
getting worse,
can't breath now,
zero out
of ten, ouch,
let me out,
let me out!

I guess                     up
I could trip
the stairs  of
my mind
in time
to find
the line

I shouldn't have crossed.

On her line she wants to drop me a line
This is how she just wants to communicate
Considering her to be fine to be mine
I follow what ever she intends  to dictate  

Love is nothing but the taste of her graces
Beauty is the point to where  we satiate
Her charming and alluring beauty embraces
She is wonderful ,marvelous and great

Weather is so unfaithful to remind the truth
The occasion to take her on just face to face
Where hearts get sooth in prime and youth
This is what is actual and the valid love base

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

Caffeine.
Shaky fingers attached
to quivering hands, steady themselves
on brick walls, paper, canvas, and skin.
Nicotine.
Reliable digits now detached
from a similar grasp. Without the stirring
lives of the artist, there is no life within.
Traces of muscle memory assist me again.
Feigned skill determined by the past,
and a pen.
Tranquiline.
Reality-defying, I'm aware to where my mind lies.
Without trying, you'll perceive it, and be on your way.
Underlying, a rare mind may use
hues to cry.
But the realist intellect knows
secrets deeper,
the mind of a dreamer,
and where to draw the line.

What to love and how to flourish
How to explore the beauty of soul
How to caress and how to nourish
All in self with more control

It is but sincerity with grace
Which makes one more at ease
It determines intention with race
And blows intelligence to cease

Only beauty plays its role
And creeps in love with line
Love becomes perfect in soul
And intoxicates like wine

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

Being a bomb is exhausting.
I am so tired of counting down.

Your veins
are the only map
I want to read.