An art or a sport
Some whisper a ‘crazy obsession’,
And like Golf where age won't cut short
At least our pastime won't lead to depression.

A hook and a line
Much patience, sun balms,
No rush when your world is sublime
With glistening waters and a horizon of wavering palms.

They ask what we do
Long hours surveying the sea,
So little they know for amidst all that blue
Lies the quest that only we see.

That adrenalin rush
A shout or a curse, the rod twitching possessed,
Tranquility broken no semblance of hush
All steely resolve now hard pressed

Arms aching, back breaking
Reel screaming the line pulling so deep,
Fish gaining, strength failing
Maybe this task is too steep.

We win some, we lose some
The joy’s in the chase not the catch,
No matter the outcome no semblance of glum
And for this feeling there’s simply no match.

To describe beauty—isn't by sight,
rather insight.
The mind is beautiful,
a *** *****; pleasing of the know how it shows,
of how much experiences it has catalogued.
As the heart—filled with passion flowing,
lips of course express the words of love.
The hands place action to the physical of one's
love to their own, given once by another.

To a resting place, is a forest of ten thousand
trees,
Where sweet nothings echo into their final bite
of one's words bark.
So as the two make love, under the canopy of
two's embrace—
Seems the passionate partaking, wisps the morning energy
for the day, and a reason to leave.

Too passionate beings, two lovers making
love.
Under covenant, as the circling ring,
she is his, as she calls to him.
He greets her always with a wet kiss.

It's bliss; ignorant forgetfulness.
"I forgot what we were even fighting about"

Do you feel nostalgia every time you walk into the room,
as the pillow talks of our make believe? Tender kisses,
biting desires and creases of time stuck in the sheets.

The echo drops of dripping walls, the yearning calls
of passionate eyes—burning embers of your red skin.
Blushing lips; a crushing weight of the burdens I try to shake.
One screams a name, or in turn whispers it's calm in the first hug
of embrace. The shape of bodies, outlined reminiscences on a bed.

Oh-the sense of appeal, peeling away an oozing flux of one's
*** appeal. Branching out into words--your'e barking up the wrong
tree. No harsher than the bark, but a bite to force you to leave.
Duped by the words lost in kisses; I meant to say lead.

To places of touch; a rush of the brushing eyes...you've swept me
by your night gown's sight. My love for you, inside the like of it's
silk fabric. Covering your face under the blankets, but the glow of
your skin—you could never mask it.

Strength lost in the weakness of love. Making two for the best
of one, as when the two flesh become one.

                                                   Now that's making love.

to kindness, to knowledge,
we make promises only; pain we obey.
Marcel Proust

I was born into this world
of people without
guardian angels but
loveless pockets
no body to see how
pain was incessantly
turned into tombstones
a carousel of masks and
defeated laughter
blinded by deceitful colours.
triumphant sidewalks not afraid
to be crushed by the weight of
humiliated bodies.
-he was secretly dreaming
how vanilla ice-cream would taste
on her lips-
people got used to bringing their thoughts
to the drug stores
as if walking their pets
weeping was incomprehensible
forbidden by law.
-she was secretly dreaming
of him smelling like tobacco,
white musk and cedarwood -


this world survived because of
all the hidden dimensions,
perhaps.
I was handed over a disembodied world
to dream of but
the metaphors were of
no use
to moonless people
their hands paralyzed.
oh, can anybody see?
the unspoken terror
that time stood still.
-I was secretly dreaming of destroying
this world with fresh words, with
the craziness of feeling alive-

I inherited the secret passion
of some unknown promises and
never-whispered desires
the only teacher I could find -
my manic heart
unbearable the pains of
growing a mind.

they wanted to keep it simple:
to cry, to speak, to fall in love.
muted seagulls
loveless alphabets
into this world
waiting for the sun to shed
its hidden self
of blindness

It all starts with an idea, that you can
Feelings come between now and then
Thoughts come running through your head
All the time is ripened for what could be said
Then it takes what was yours
It just breaks all your core
And you'll never know why
You gave in just for more
All the sights and the sores
Painful cries as they court
And you'll never know why
You take in, lust yet torn

Sometimes I fear the feeling of contentment
Of completion and accomplishment
Because afterwards I'll never know
If the passion dies, or if I'll still grow
Then it stops what you start
It just drops from the heart
And you'll never take back
What you gave just for art
All the lies and the lores
Faithful eyes now they tore
And you'll never know why
As you come back for more

And it starts as it the ends
The idea that you can't
As you say one goodnight
The last of all goodbyes
To the brush, to your pen
To all books that you've read
To the lovers that come
To the letters you've read
As you'll never come back
To create, you just can't
One last time, one last sigh
Close your eyes, one last breath
All the doors closing in
Right where we all begin

Our dreams come pure with uncertainty
When all doors are closed as answers can be
When everyone has turned their back on you
While the chance is null and you have no clue
That dream you have is yours alone
It only comes once, yet with you it's grown
It all starts with an idea, that you can
You were passionate once, embrace dreams once again

you want to see
how soft and tender my flesh is
and crack the inside of my mind open
like a pomegranate,
ruby jewels spilling onto white sheets.
i offer my plum ripe heart to you greedily
prey wanting to be hunted,
only to be left with sticky hands
from trying to hold myself together
when you walk away.

There was sun dead
Behind the hurricane of sorrow
Which was
For sun,a disaster
For hurricane,a played track for swallow
There was sun dead
In the dust of your rebellious manner;
Though
For sun,a mysterious chapter
For dust,an endless struggle
There was sun dead
In a frustrated gaze of you
Where passion was running through
That was
For sun,a praise
For your eyes,a rosiness!