I'm sleeping in the shade of her comfort
In longing,
I call her name,
She is in a mourning state as if she's lost
her dear possession,
tying hope in the left remnants,
she smiles at my call caressing my forehead,
"Sleep, my love!"

Paper and Pen
Has always been
My weapon of choice
Carrier of my voice
My comfort, my escape
Here on the page;
I feel most safe.



Still somedays I wonder
If only my voice could speak
As articulately
Perhaps the world could be
Just as meant for me...



So maybe.
I'll just try, a little
To speak out
With words that are not brittle.

I fear,
Worry heavily over,
Realizing my dream
My passion, my drive
"Too late"
But, I must ask myself
When exactly
Is too late??
Ten years from now?
Twenty?
Or is too late tomorrow,
Or next week?
Because some days
It feels that way
And days like today
I wonder,
If there even is such a thing..

Maybe when I'm gone
Once my bones decay
It will be too late
Yet even then,
Someone might just
Remember it.

Tensions wind with
sea's rising tide
then curtains' delicate divide.

Tongue's unsung syllables rhyme,
body's language replying in kind
its secrets, inclined to confide
in human passions
humid, dripping liquefied;
sweetness seizes and slides-
a taste inside
where nectar, ambrosial, resides.

Blurring in a flurry
of your nerves and mine
as if designed
to collide then combine
for a time,
you and i intertwined;
lying supine, your
spine obliged to writhe,
legs around head,
softest vices tightly bind,
hands on thighs,
slowly grind
upon this throne you ride,
crown for the divine;
unifying flesh and minds,
higher towards sky
you climb.

Then knot untied
leaves skin sweat soaked-
satisfied,
described only by
a sigh.

Thinking of her
is a happy and smiley thing
it's been a while since
I've felt this kind of gratification
I was once naive enough
to think that a few simple relationships
had made me lose the ability
to love
i can only say that i'd not met
the right person yet
the experience is always useful
no matter what kind
it makes you understand society
and human nature
smile permeates life
when the reliance on you becomes
a habit
it takes up the whole space
of nerve
hugs always
make me feel the most solid warmth
being together with you
becomes the only faith
the bond between you and me
slowly sublimes
this is what you bring to me
my love
when life gave me tears
you said "i'm here"
when time gave me pressure
you said "I'm here"
when distances gave me worries
you said "I'm here"
the past gave me a sense of loss
you said "I'm here"
the future gave me confusion
you said "I'm here"
when the words "I'm here"
sit in my mind
i began to believe
in your love
i began to sink deeper into it
one last promise, my love
be with me til forever and never
apart.

drinking hot coffee in summer
ice cream for the winter
hot spices on a mild tongue

cold showers in the morning
challenge to how I'm writing
drowning depth in my deep thoughts

reasons to explain the dream
opposition to say I'll never make it

it's a subtle pain,
to inspire me to push through it

I am in quite a predicament, you see
There are new textures I can feel
This corduroy feels soft to me
The moment is only now and only real.

I melt into warmth, and only warmth
Carpet is the only way I can describe this
Patterned and aligned but soft
My fingers weave a pattern with each kiss

The taste of a smoker
A familiar taste, knowing and real
It does not bother me
A strange sense of intimacy I can feel

Lingering touch, further reaches
A gentle holding of the fingers
I think about it for too long
A bit too long

This kiss is different, and that is new
Lips match, perfect in time
A warm tingle, a passionate pull
Something I have longed to feel

I suppose I’ve started to write poetry again
That’s how I know its ******
Because now I’m in my feelings
And hard decisions ****.

To be an artist is to be free, free of my own thoughts and ideas
Free from other's expectation and standards
Free from everything except the artist itself, me
I carve, I paint, I draw, I create
To satisfy my mind and souls' desire
Artist conveys what's in their head
Artist express what's in their heart
Artist tries to build connection in between people's heart
Just like how chef prepares a dish
WIth thorough preference of smell, taste, and texture,
Artist prepares masterpiece to appease the eyes with perfect features
Life is like an art
With an artist giving color to one's life
An artist never doubts his own outlook
Artist uses it to be converted into book
A book, full of experience and emotion
A book, soon to be shared and unfolded to the nation
When an artist loses its way
Art will find you to make you stay
In silence, in chaos
It doesn't matter
As long as it's always what we choose.

I imagine you
ever blooming
ever radiant
ne'er had you budded
nor will you wilt
poise pristine
artful to the letter
my memories of you
shall ne'er
idle in memoriam
they are
crisp and clear as daybreak
the sight of you breaks me open
not the raging flow of magma
nor the rushing of a river
neither the shooting of a star
ne'er the passing of time itself
what flows from me is pure
as it must be to be worthy
of your charm and wit and passion
my veins pulse with imbibed inspiration
I drink you in like forests drink the universe
slow and gentle
patient and careful
deep thirsts masked by soft touch
lust of your form masked by song
for your beauty is lyric personified
you are desire's orchestra
a tempest of pleasure
a monolith of midnight
towering with grace
casting shadows that embrace
long, oh, long I wait
in the dark
of the folds of your flower
caressed by your mercy
your silken petals soothe me
as I dream
as I pine
for a taste sure to be sweeter
than the bitter chaste of loneliness...