She was 13, and him, in his 30s
According to him,
He fell in love with her
I don't know her take on it
But she did commit suicide
After he went to jail for 30 years

Behind any bannar he chose to fly
Or wrap it in
He contributed to her misery
And that's what happened to the boy I loved first

Sometimes while sleeping
I greet the twin sisters.

Subtle faceless apparitions,
that love to giggle
while skipping the ropes to reality.

coalesced dreams, some call them
Without an end or beginning.

in a state of drunken stupor,
set by feasting on the flesh of stars
they drive me back to the black lake
where we once buried the moon

effigies of time, burn on the shores,
the lake soaking its ashes.
does the time ever weep?
for what it has lost,
even in the interconnected dreams

an undecipherable hymn now,
colludes with my stupor
as the faceless twin sisters smile.

I shall remember nothing
except for their holy unison
and the figments of thread
sewing their thumbs together

Fear waits upon its prey
where the light is a shamefaced girl

wind is a fragmented guest
where silence fools the unwary

to chirp the birds forget
where the baiter might be the bait

the hush is not all white
as in that ever ruling night
blood is spilled without sound.

Forlorn as the lovers' lost track
meanders the creek
in moans for the lost
shedding its sighs to the tides.

I spoke to the moon and she spoke to me,
She complained about the sun as i complained about u,
She complained of their differences him being gold her being grey,
I too complained about me and u how i tried to be red when you were always blue,
And just like me and u they never saw each other too,
She said he was always late and he left a little bit early too,
Darling don't u see the story of the sun and the moon is the story of me and u.

I want to write a poem
Like a yogi’s meditation
Every minute of the day

Through blackness of my sadness
Red is glory close to heart while
White arises pale and cold

I tried to write a poem
All about the triumph of love
That took me 10 years to write

Despite my fierce suppression
That passion in all its hunger
Realized like turtle doves

I wrote my heartfelt poem
In a trance of deep rem sleep
Feeling the ruthlessness of truth

I must complete this poem
Awake to writing its wonder
Instead remembered this one

a breeze of guilt,
smells like remorse
in the morning

the descending fog camouflages
the slaying of the whispers

in a city this big,
everybody is a slave

skies watch patiently
to choose their meals:
the unfortunate and weaklings.

they are all up from sleep:
nature’s most intelligent creature.

the madness shall now float.

who broke the moon? its
slivers shatter on tile and you
emptied them in our flowerbeds,
waiting, i think, for the rain.