Why don’t I love?
For this love is a
possessive obsession to handle.

It’s a constraint,
sealing you mine forever.

So just flee—
or better,
not come at all.


For it's a Red envelope,
A prison house… or love?
My limitless love !

Why quench for blood,
when water’s thirst
is deadly—
an endless lust?

Why forgive,
yet never forgiven?
Guilty—but my mistakes
Burn like oranges in my scent,


No reversal fate to heal
In yin and yang entangled ,
Only  closing eye
and stillness—
all sea turned dry

Why won’t you love?
Obsessions —
you’ll never know
my passion.

It’s river, ocean, submerged;
constraints never matter.
You are all I want,
be it abyss or earth.

do not run —
stay, if you choose.
Be my dark rose,
my secret desire..

What is enlightenment?
It’s a perception,
where lenses reflect
not the world’s testimony,

Here inference and analogy meet,
reason breathes,
and conclusions are held.

Yet truth is not one—
it is never-absolute,
where multiple perspectives converge,
and reality ?
It's  fragile fragments...
That Falls through lenses.

What I wanted
was never given.
Now, what they offer
is apathy—
a void all I feel.

They criticized the desert,
yet all it needed
was a drop of water.
Instead, they offered a mirage.

Now there is no mercy.
It is the rough sand—
for them,
the arid ruin they created.

Now it is a heart of stone
the fearless eye of barren storm—
a total internal reflection!
never bound by laws.

Never fall for cosmic essence,
dwell too long in material desert.
Believe in seismic waves—
yet doubt the soul’s eternal whispers?

Where no star remains,
a parallel twin earth strains.
The universe threads
through each breath of  mystical souls—

Yet it is  Maya opal shimmering ,
or only philosophy?—
or truth

What is sensibility?
Some beautiful work of art,
a malapropism ****,
its chameleonic breath shifting—

a perspective that ignites,
senses that reflect—
yet it is a prism, volatile,
held in ideological
difference and delight.

Sepia filled with nostalgia,
vermilion sacred as life.
Is love worth the roselet breath,
where pearl-ivory turns to sacrifice?

For amber’s warmth, its fleeting feel,
Why wager on indigo’s mystic solace?

Why lotus petals drift?
It’s impermanence’s butterfly dream.
Calmness reflects where
emotions heighten least.

When fluids run deep,
it’s only infatuation—
a dream within a dream.

Why adore?
Frightened by thought—
the one you cared for
betrayed you hard.

Where dark secret
cuts sharp,
a monster within thee,
a hunter in innocent robes.

Whom you protect now?
no more dolls—
it’s curse  that
hunting down in hills.

Why desire night-blooming jasmine,
yet refuse sandalwood’s calm?

Frankincense drifts outside,
myrrh’s sorrow wagered within.
Orange—innocence so pure,
Yet freshness shimmers only in light;

Musk—the scent of hormone,
Sweetness of oxytocin's pulse.
What is the lemon zest of  dark
fragrances … in burning smoke
or   secretive pheromones it craved for?

Arsenic never drains,
it lingers in daily veins.
Foxglove controls the beats,
Hemlock never waits—
its bitter acceptance remains

Dwelling in ***** poppy dreams,
while Mandrake madness screams.

For willow’s bark, craving lavender’s gold,
get Belladonna's ruins—lethal and cold.

A sacred geometry figure,
or a plasma’s luminous sphere?

It balances harmony
like a pentacle
evoking four elements
with ether’s unseen connection.

a symbol of mathematical perfection,
a talisman to evoke the four,
a heptagram's  triangular symmetry—
a charm to strengthen energy lines...

Or too dark a black hole!
yet to be define.

Moonstone Illusion

It’s Opal’s illusion light,
where Onyx wounds bleed Ruby-bright.
Emerald memory keeps dwelling,
Sapphire silence—endlessly telling.

Where is the beloved found?
Only in Moonstone’s fragile sound,
and Topaz fades from the skies,
pearl's beauty slowly dies.

Kin never become keen,
none become kin by choice.
It’s the helix spiral code —
nurturing great fortune,
while some heiress of  a hex

Genes spin the fortune wheel;
where karma cannot stand,
only Oedipus’ prophecy
stitches in blood
and blinds the bloodline.

When frequencies meet
with the same intensity,
one object feels the other—
just as soul and mind connect
with the rhythm of pulse.

Its. like doppelgänger never meets,
yet vibrates with the same force;
shadows breathe where dark
emerges from the light.

It is the singing bowl’s arcane,
where water creates healing sound,
and nature balances
the circle of life.

Shall it called mere resonance
or some mystical bound?

Too much hatred,
for what?
Vengeance for all -
but at what cost?

Lurking in the dark,
Where do I go — now, now?
Demons cross the pathways,
No escape, it’s tragic.

Is my life dignified,
Or only dark?
Like an eclipse,
Falling outside the heart.

It’s warmth —
but it burns,
Burns me into ashes,
Always.

I define,
yet can’t define —
It’s complicated,
All around me.

Ooh child, don’t cry,
It’s darkness that bluffs outside.
I hold your hand when no light,
Incidence.

Why seek  celestial? None will appear —
Only darkness sprouts near.
For filth, the mud suits better still…
Now go, my son — to hell, to hell,
it's hell all here

Missing the lights
In days and night
But pretending it is  all right !

Unyouthful as spring,
never blushed pink, only stained;
with passion, yet without summer’s zeal.
Reflection fades in autumn’s twilight leaf,
condolence forged along winter’s trail—
snow flakes, Haunted in numbness

🐝 The Bee’s Tale 🐝

Bees, white and black bees — buzzy buzzy bees,
She hummed, hummed on the flower leaves.
Once she sat on the hallucinating breeze,
Of freshness flowing through scented flora

She moved, moved closer to kiss thy nectar sizzling,
Sat closer, closer to petals — it’s mesmerizing.
But fell into a pit — a dark indeed,
From flower to leaves, what curse did she breed?

It just haunted the bee — but the lid is closed deep,
No whispers now — no nectar to keep.

Now she became the nitrogen nectar,
What thee needs, O bee — churned up indeed.

I fell from the sky to blue sea-
To die, yet not to die.
Why must all suffering be mine,
And all the fruits thine?

Who wrote destiny
That cannot define me?
Pain lingers in my heart,
Thorns strike deep in my bone.
Why am I dethroned, always alone?

They say it’s karma—
Karma of the past.
But why do I cry like a mermaid,
Whose pearls are no treasures,
But burning salt from the eye?

O fate,
Stop it—just stop.
This soul is already broken,
Already terrified.

It’s a burial ground,
Spirits all around,
From doll to the old,
Lie secrets untold

The  Reaper sighing
  Our final foretelling ,
Where the black clock chimes,
At the end where memory  lies.

Love is love, after all—it’s love,
High or low, it flows,
Snow-white as a dove.

In the sky,
A pure diamond shines,
Bright as sunshine,
Gentle and soft—
It sings a tender song.

Yet it dies—
Its life whispers goodbye.
Breaking hearts
With hue and cry.

But its loyalty soars,
Carrying two souls
Into the purest sky—
Commitment ,falling petals,
The kiss of eternity

🕊️ Innocent Bird



A bird chirping on the ground — mesmerizing all aloud
She can’t fly, not anymore… but why? Why, o why?
Her wings lay crushed, left her soul in tears.
Singing alone, still beautiful — yet pain lingers in her voice.
But never again shall thee fear those beasts.
She shall rise from the desert, past the hill,
No coward bird now — she is eagle, risen to heaven.
An eagle divine, like phoenix, rose from her own ashes.

Oblation for love,
but it's unbearable consecration,
It’s not an altar
when it takes everything
you desired.

For chess’s dark or white piece—
why must it wound another’s peace?
For voids, no creation is needed;
emptiness speaks instead.

For sun’s warmth, so like life,
why must it burn the crescent moon at night?
Now imbalance grips too tight—
two halves never sealed in silence.
The dark embraced with resilience

Passes like an hourglass;
time—a myth, or a mirror House

Weaving a web—yet fragile,
entrapment unseen, a delight.

Mystic dots connect the void,
a shadowed feminine archetype.

So, dark, entangled in
instincts and desire, it walks
through living illusions,
performing the ritual.

A silk gift of flies,
a vibrating dance, the abdomen’s pulse
but what she truly wants?
It's you!
The beloved offering!

The black widow presence,
a thirst that devours itself.
No web remains to protect
only the surreal subconscious,
the stuckness of web-death.

Fatal union: to consume—or be consumed.

Wanted—floating significance,
without restraint.

To be or alike them,
is the stability we chase—

Testosterone rising
vital energy it grants.

But Four phases destroyed;
stress hormones too high,
an imbalanced cycle,
a ****** price

Losing progesterone,
creative essence so delicate,
or metabolism’s hunger
Will there ever a choice?