The people we meet in life
always stay with us -
some as beautiful memories,
and
some as ugly scars.

3 a.m.

the dying town, dark moon,
the wolf lurks in a concrete tomb.

fallen friends and picnics at the graveyard,
empty stores and sidewalk ******.

streets of sorrow--
one-way roads to no tomorrow.

shadowed eyes, whispers in bars,
fallen angels, shooting stars.

sirens wail the ****** night,
and in every traffic light burned red
time never stops for the dead.

the ****** on the corner.
none to morn her fate,
a wink and a whisper,
"do you want to go on a date?"

the black butterfly,
soul of sorrow,
no echo, no refrain,
lost in silence, bound by pain.

As the day broke,
I took a walk through
the trail in a forest.
The golden rays of the sun
penetrated through the thick canopies.
The soft sound of a cascading brook,
broke the silence of tranquility.
A little walk downwards,
as I followed the sound,
I found
a beautiful waterfall in all its glory
as if it had been waiting for me,
a beautiful, serene picture
to capture in memory.

people have their god
               and
people have their no god
               but
neither has solid proof
                nor
the definitive answer
               only
what they truly believe in
                and
they’re so sure of themselves
               that
they’ll defend and protect their beliefs
                  if
any differences are shouted at them
                 and
they’ll hold and cradle their beliefs
               tightly
like a security blanket
                 and
they’ll preach their beliefs
                  to
any pair of ears they come across
                  it’s
the never-ending game
           straddling
the on-going centuries
                  if
you have god, go with god
                and
                  if
you have nothing, go with nothing
                 just
leave me the hell out of it:
your beliefs
      my beliefs
          his beliefs
             her beliefs
               their beliefs
                 were never a certainty.

Hold off on your verdict for her now.
Put by your own condemnations.
You never lived behind the wall
In the grip of grievous self-abnegations.

In the morning, while opening eyes,
She destroys and despises herself in whole!
She hates herself! She abhors the world,
Which she has made by herself alone.

She wants everything would disappeared,
Evaporated as though it's never been
So that there's nothing left around,
Nothing reminded of her as she's been.

And she would start with a blank sheet.
Forgiven, redeemed and clearly blameless,
Hold off on your verdict for her now,
For her, who leans over ruins.

You poke my heart
With spiteful words
My confidence
Retreats to its shell
You may see yourself great
King of all lords
I bet you;
There are more dead kings
And lords in hell

I cannot say to you
There's a speck
In your eyes
But it's mine
You see plain
To point at and
Speak ill of

The tongue you wag
Is coated with lies
For everytime you speak
The world stands still
For everytime you speak
The ocean’s tides
Empty their tanks

For everytime you speak
Those words you let out
Are nothing akin to a prank
For everytime you speak
Dense forests let deserts
Encroach their yards

For everytime you speak
The consequence of your acts
Should put you behind bars

But Obsidian—
Is nothing like you
She doesn't have the tongue
To taste a sacrificial ewe
Nor a vile and
Treacherous mouth
Transcending and true
Are her whispers indeed
A stone so mystic, yet bears
The markings of ancient tales