They say girls like something shiny
And that may very well be true
Bigger is better but I'll take tiny
No matter the size I'll make do

Of course I have my favorites
Or those meant for special occasions
Getting dolled up I want to savor it
Adorning myself prematurely for my sins

Perhaps they get jealous of each other
So maybe I'll take them all out for display
They sparkle perfectly making me stutter
Stroking each longingly before we play

Saw her first at cousin's weddinG,
She looked astonishing I knew where it was headinG
Escorting the bride she came in smilinG
My eyes got glued on her and my heart started poundinG.

Afraid of her brother but she agreed to meeT,
I got there first, where the buses fleeT,
Time and place was on her to fiX,
Excited, I reached before the clock tickS,
There I saw her waving at platform thirty siX.

Time freezed for a while,
Walking towards her a million thoughts ran through my mind,
Was that really her or someone else!?
But that same magical smile and my heart again melts.

Simple, yet pleasant I liked her stylE,
But the best thing was definitely her smilE,
I got lost , stammered in speech for a whilE,
She was confident and I got nervous blood profilE.

The place was new ,
None of us had any clue,
I was sweaty , the day seems hottest,
Perhaps the oddest in the whole August.

Black and white top and she blingS,
Leather sandals and those shiny earingS,
The watch was pink , hairs were perfect readY,
But **** her luggage was real heavY!

Got in a cab, and some comfy place to talK,
She was in a hurry, but i had all the clocK,
She was bold at the same time cooL,
And I was smiling for no reason like a fooL.

More time I wanted to spend,
But getting her home safe and sound was important in the end.
Got her a bus had to bid a good bye,
And my hopes of meeting her soon are sky high! :)

in this world of the limped nuptial
i’ve appeared as a power-missile of the lac-dye
that is used by the hindu women
to paint the border of their feet

the tooth-ache of some-one pumpkin
that grows on the thatched roof of a hut
has wringed spirally  
my mythological birth with corporate death

managing and arranging  my thoughts
on what I was in the past
what I would be in the future
or what is my dos at present  
the wonder-paintings of the altamira cave
unfolds its wings beside my painful in-growing nail

and in her own sky of miss marry  
my hands become so much condensed in every drops
as if within that moping smog
without any speech
speaks the twinkle twinkle little star…

beside  that labour pain what awakes then
is the patronage of a one-horned idea
along which while walking  without much preparation
i can enter into any e-mail

though our love pulls a very long-face about itself
and in the opinion of the married women
the sigh of the sin θ of our love wants to cultivate
mustered-seeds on the soil of the inhabitants
of this human-life
with a stick by which the monkeys are driven out
what more can i say in lieu of
a piece of red-salute written in green ink

if i say in the dawn of the 52-cards
i touch your face
by the hands of a school-boy
your calmness and earthly perfume
make me stunned

then in this field of sweat and war
the explosion of logic and intellect
of your top-floor
seems more famous anchor than the milk
that spilt over on the fire

and more to say
when daubing all over the body
all taste of the path of joy
enter into then fort of gold you can notice there
when in some unknown moment
my pajama dies socially
by the bite of the snails and oysters

to keep the heart of the break-kiln always move
this form-less interactions are so well
in the harvest-arrangement of the late-autumn
we are all uttering the name of cherry-flower
and begging shelter from the mango leaves

the cause of spreading over of the fragrance
from our secret myrobalan to every side of the pillows
is not only such that in the morning
an empty ink-*** says to the rain-water
you are beautiful

it is also remarkable that
coming to our half-articulated  travelling
the writings carved on the granite stone
become very much ashamed also

and  taking the busy market-price of the sun-glass
in the fold of the **** cloth tied at the waist
my both hands are also marked very much
in the omnibus of the dancing-bar

such is just because it is the art and science of navigation
that pastes some earth-wave
having no number-plate
with the public
rolling down  on the mat of the summer

it is impossible
to memorise the history of  those
so much contended-hunger
so much contended-sleep

it is all right that the staff-members
of our vibgyr university are all alive  
but they are the existence of some
bio-data only

arrangement of so much smiles and tears
in the nomenclature of banana-bed of mrs sofia
is not to tell the directionlessness of her fishery products
but if the culture of the wild trees assuming figure
then there remains no separate entity of the rbcs
inside or inside-up of the veins and arteries

all are the world of cosmetic-surgery
all are the arena of displaced national integrity
that is the only way to get admitted
into the still water of the horse-race

so the making of this self-portrait of the tip-cat game
by own-hand
so is the fancy of the engagement ring of the bursar

as a result of the headache in the au fait knee-joint
all the rats on the rice-*** of margaret  
become very angry
and when they make their performance  
you can’t catch them by extending your hands

so there is this sky-blue printed sari of desdemona
now take refuge under her perfumed disaster
and it is feared that there may be the drops of sweat
on the lobes of her nose extremely devoted
that the trees become to reside in

how much confusing is that cascade
in each of whose earings the dark fortnight
and whose eden garden is so large
that all those  people with crevasses dwell there

they stay in a group of nine
neither eight nor ten
just n for 9
n is also meant for the nancy
and the narcissus
and the sensational appearance of the
nereid  

once again we rub green-chilly after pouring water
in the parched-rice on the ancient plate made of brass
it is right that the peak is separated down from the temple
but it does not hurt the priest

by the right of our walks strewed outside
we too when hiding ourselves in the regime of fire
with our intention and activities
with our standpoint
with our conduct and  behaviour
or any instant rule or direction
or our deeds
that compel the rotation of the deodorant

thus after the eye-operation
the love between you and me is now
seeing more week-ends than before
to her knee has been submitted many caws
painted in water-colour

in every corner and every hole of the body
that pulls the rickshaw the wind enters
and in every root-cause of the sufferings
the ripple of annihilation of love

from the shop of dip-swimming now
you can also purchase soundlessness  
to feel  the spirit of  chrysoberyl

now you need the work for 100 days
to gain the power you need to keep pace
with the graph of the terracotta
that may also be a long day of fasting  

then on the back of that hungry conch-shell
a globe shouts
the other’s world puts its office-water
in the fountain of cactus the roaring of which
pours so many telephone-calls into the ears

then in our market the ear-bursting sound of the generator
then in our forest-land
the bullet-fight between maoist and the joint-force

then with the enlarging and waning of our moon
are the bright fortnight the dark fortnight and the leaves of wood-apple

you may say now
those demerits relate to the seeds of the gm oranges
but just think the scanning of hibernation of the philtre
or of the kite the thread of which is cut off
they can’t escape their responsibility too

then tell me to whom i could give
my sad melting point  

but then to do any work means
this trigonometry
outside the territory of copyright

then the connection of the biscuits
with the thoughts of the fire-works
is clearly dismantled

the border-zone of all relations thus keep themselves apart
and due to a sharp difference in the chromosomes of sand-stone
our dwelling-house becomes a museum

to build a hospital with a big moustache
at last within the hypnotized company
the shadow of our bed-room appears

then the light of the social moon  is like the materials
with which the inner parts of the sorrows of the pomelo
is made up

it may be well for making great
the art-work of the horse-rider
that is wrapped with the handkerchief of ocean  

it must be waiting for my shampoo-power too

some cure may be offered by the paraffin
and her open hair

but one deed of the rose-petals
and the convex sweet drops of molasses  
is the flame of thumb-impression
that is born and brought up by the pan-cake
in-between sauce-pan and peter pan

in this all-pervasive panorama of slang-opera

Diamond shaped hearts
cracking into two
forming elegant earings
for you to wear
once the reaper comes
and invites you down.
Just like beauty hurts,
so does love.

She is like flowers

Or flowers are like her ?.



Curved lips of her

Or the rose petals.

Waving hair beneath her ear

Or the butterfly trying to settle.



Shining eyes of her

Or the waterdrop that scatters.

Sparking Earings

Or Sun's fragment that glitters.



She is like flowers

Or Flowers are like her ?.


My dreams break

As the Sun rises up from ground

I Meet to her

Or her thoughts, that surround.



Are they morning birds

Or her anklet that sounds

Has the spring arrived

Or she is somewhere around.



She is like flowers

Or flowers are like her?

I miss a 16 year old girl
I miss a girl with skin fairer than that ***** snow white
I miss a girl who lips are red like my blood
I miss a girl who's eyes could make me question everything and anything
I miss a girl who scoffed at my compliments
I miss a girl who called me a player
I miss a girl who could write beautifully
I miss a girl who saw more
I miss a girl that blocked all of my compliments
I miss a girl who was shy
I miss a girl who's tears could burn holes in my soul
I miss a girl who loved me
I miss a girl who trusted me
I miss a girl with blond hair
I miss a girl that wore nice earings
I miss a girl that hated herself
I miss a girl with scars on her wrist, bruises around her neck and burn marks on her legs
I miss a girl that could look into a mirror and not like what she saw
I miss a girl who thought she was ugly
I miss a girl ghat thought she was a curse to the world
I miss a girl that wanted to **** herself for most of her life
I miss a girl that drank
I miss a girl that did drugs
I miss a girl who loved the pain
I miss a girl who hated the numbnesa
I miss a girl that put others before herself not because she was kind but because she thought they were better than her
I miss a girl that I abandoned
I miss a girl who trusted me enough to tell me THAT SHE WAS ******* KILLING HERSELF
I miss a girl thagtnever showed anyone her tears but she showed me
I miss a girl that never showed anyone her scars but she showed me
I miss a girl that was so delusional that she showed me her trye self
I miss a girl that I hated for one day....I almost killed myself the day after
I miss a girl who had such an impact on me that I still feel her pain floating around in my head....

I miss a beautiful girl

I miss a girl that killed herself and it haunts me everyday

You empty your pockets and remove anything metal.
Walk between the metal detectors and all
The lights and sounds go off. They pull you aside and
They frisk you for
Your cellphone, iPod, earings, rings, wallet, headphones, coins,
Privacy, and dignity.
They find nothing and let you walk to the terminal but
You remember that they forgot to take something. You spin
Around and give them the finger.

I miss you darling
like a dark night..
missin' the moon light!
Let me be your anklets
so that, we can walk
together
Let me be your bangles
so that, I can see you
in different angles
Let me be your earings
so that, I can hear
all your secrets
Let me be your lipstick
so that, I can always
have
a lick
Let me be your tattoo
so that, I cant
leave yoo
I miss you darling
like a dark night
missin' the moon light!
----de3pak

"My  dahling," ...
That is how she always will begin, with a lilt to her speach
Her words slurring together as if she's been ******* on the bourbon from your private store
For every minute and every second of the three hours that she had been gone away
Doing whatever it is that young damsels, who do whatever they please shall do
Then she will wrap her cold arms around you, reminding you of the wintery landscape outside
Putting her lips close to your ears, she will whisper and she will try to tell you again;
"My  dahhling, my  dearest, dearest  friend,"
She pauses, hesitating a little too much for you to know that it is not something good.
But since when have the two of you been friends?
She was just a women, and you were just a lonely old man who needed someone
To take care of your very sore and achy feet from the arthritis that had evolved over the many decades of your life
So why the hell would she call you her dearest friend? When the hell did this happen?
What did she want from you? More? You had given her everything her little heart could ever desire;
The fur coats, the crystal jewels, even that 1997 baby blue convertable with the velvet seats
That you had proffesonally done, not too mention that as well
****, women always want more. More, more, more. Can never get enough can they?
They whine, they snivel, they grovel, and they chirp like little birds when they recieve what they want
But she, Little Miss Want It All, still seems to be left, and always wanting more.
Turning you face her, you notice the little things that you have never seen before
The way her nose is slightly off center, or that her eyes are an eerie blue tang color
The way her breath feels against your old wrinkly skin when she speaks to you softly
"My  dahling, I  need  to  tell  you  something."
She whispers this as she curls her hair around her fingers from where she is standing
Which is behind your real, and expensive leather couch that she had you get imported from Russia
You roll your eyes, thinking you know what the little **** will say;
That she lost the diamond earings you got her, or she got a scratch on the car you bought
And she wants a replacement. *******. Always. This always happened, practically once a month
Money, **** that women to hell! She seemed to just throw it out the window and forget that she had it
Well enough was enough, you could nolonger take this part of her.
No matter how long her legs were in five inch heels, or how beautiful she looked
She seemed to spend every penny that you had ever earned without noticing
Leaning towards you her hair tickles against your face, the smell of cherries floating out
That was the one good thing about her, she always kept herself in tip top shape
But now as she leans over you, her lips inches away from yours;
This is how she will end, her voice reeking of yes, the bourbon from your private store
"My  dahling, it seems  that  I  have  pawned  off  your­  house.  And  everything  else  you  own­."


Well  ****.

I see you
I see me
Not being chosen
I see you having more fun
I see you walk by in your seducing scarlet jumpsuit casuallly dismissing me
I see your lips with a dark shade of  maroon moving and not a single moment of silence
I see your hazel brown eyes not even glancing  towards me
I see the red-brown of your hair but they face me
I see your long silver earings dangling and shaking as you laugh
I see the golden bracelets in your hand  slide back as you tie your hair
I see you
I see me
                             All alone

Copper bees on earings
or wresting on flowers
smoking a cigarette, disheveled
outside the bar after hours
Maybe I've been selfish
and rushing like a manic
into many different spaces
all draped with potential
Just trying to find a light in
a very dark tumble
And the more I've become
aware of my cyclic mechanics
was where I felt hopeful
What is your dream like?
The less I fear I'll ever be content
He's like a quite lake a
mountain of sturdy grace
His buttons all in place
Sometimes I feel shapeless and
drifting
But he's an anchor in drizzled
mornings
I'm trying to find the gap
where God and I coalesce
It's hard to express
It's a titillating quiver
To make peace with the remnants
of a stranger
In my head
the voice still there
Memories of bee stings
from throwing rocks
at hives.

I'm frightened by just how much I love you. And I do mean love. Not that silly thing we throw around like casual greetings-- "oh, I just love your dress, your shoes, your earings"-- no, none of that, unless these things were worshipped by whoever uttered the phrase. I mean just that, I worship you, I adore every second I spend with you and if I could commit to memory every detail of your soul and flesh and internal beauties I'd never be alone again. But, I am only so gifted, and I lose sight of you upon every drifting thought. That does not mean you are not important to me, that you are, oh so terribly, but I simply know I cannot bear to hold you in my mind all the time. Otherwise I'd never get things done. This does, however, work as a wonderful motivator; wanting to send my time imaginning you because we are so far apart. I try my best so I can get back to that, so that I can get back to you when you are around. So, back to the fact that I love you. I love you like one should their own thoughts, something so integral in defining who you are that it can be said to compose your very essence. I know it's like a cliche, but I really find myself at a loss for words when describing those precious moments of intimate solitude to even us. Giving shape, form, word and solid meaning to something so raw, intimate, warm, caring and so much deeper than those words could ever imply is...wrong. But you know me, always one to try and say what it is I'm thinking, whether or not it needs to be said. And I also know you, and I take great pride in knowing my lover so well that I am her best friend, her first choice in opening up to someone. It makes me feel so important; you make me feel that way too. And that's important, especially between two people with limited self-esteems. To be made so important and integral and nurturing to someone elses life, and at the same time making them equally important to you-- not to lick one anothers wounds, but to help us through, help each of us move on, together. I like that, I really do. Hell, maybe the reason why we shouldn't give this shape is because it can be viewed in such a skewed manner, always picked apart and basterdized, misinterpreted, twisted, distorted, and in the end defiled beyond repair. But, there are also times when we can give these moments shape and form, liberty. When we lay in bed, with you usually laying on top of me, looking right into each others eyes, without so much as a ****** hint or verbal command our fingers slide across our hands, down one anothers palms, into the spaces between each finger and interlock, and we stare, and we smile, and we giggle at how very alike we are, you and I. In love

And so the bloodshed ended
The war to end all wars reached its ******
Shattered minds and shattered men
Returned to shattered families
But they gave their all for world peace
But did they
NO
For in far flung corners of foreign fields
The killing still goes on
The blood of boys and girls
Nurturing foreign soil
BUT
All of you younger generation with beards earings
Nose rings and piercings
Who say to me its ancient history
So why do you bother
I say this
They gave their today for your tomorrow
Their sacrifice gives you the freedom of speech
That you now have
So don't ask me why I remember
Because I understand

a lady with a tattoo of a foot on her foot.
2. a guy who eat three bananas in a row.
3. an old man with a nose ring like a bull and sea horse earings.
4. a guy wearing a Metalica tank top. patriots pajama pants, flip flops and he was smoking a cigarette.
5. a guy with aviators and a flaming skull tattooed on his throat.
6. a girl with blue hair.
7. a lady trying to run for a train in heels and failing.
8. a guy wearing a hood, a hat and sunglasses. but also shorts.
9. a kid who I recognized from high school but didn't remember his name.
10. a man who started to run for the train about ten seconds in he realized it was futile and started walking again.
11. at least six girls with frozen merchandise.
12. a guy who was towing his backpack in a wheeled cart.
13. Joey cullen and his girlfriend. (they had to catch the 214 bus)
14. four guys who were reading game of thrones books

You know
I am pretty happy
But its not what you think.

Its a box.

Yeah,

Its a box i sit in.
Its the place I built
To hide from myself.
I got my girl.
I got my boys.
I got my friends,
And my games,
And my job.

So im good.

But,

You see.
There are times,
When I think about
How messed up people
Can be:

To each other.
To themselves.
To animals.
To Earth.
To what we can really be,
What we NEED to be.
Even to little kids..........

And this is the time,
Yeah,
When all i wanna do is
peak
Over the lid of that box
And then:

My eyes glisten
within the flames
of pure agression.

The blind kind.

And I watch
As i fall somehow,
within myself,
Like down the throat of a dragon.
Screaming in absolute rage.

You know,...

 the tunnel vision kind?
The seeing red and black kind?
The saves you in fist fights kind?
The no pain kind.

The "if you even hint
That you are thinking,
What I THINK you are thinking.
I will claw my finger nails away
And ******,
trying to scratch my way to it.
Through your idiotic skull.
So i could remove
What would be the first thought
You've had in years.
So that I could then
Deny its rightful place
As king to the bran muffin
Between your diamond earings
You use to make decisions.
Just so I could then devour it
Excrete it back out,
Set it afire with
The very rage of
HUMANKIND
That floats somewhere
Between my heart, lips and mind
Just so I could Then throw myself
Upon those very flames.

And all of that...?

So that what remains of me
Won't have the energy to waste
On the thought of you."
Kind of

RED

RAGE

My flowers, they are for you
Please do not feel blue
A token of my friendship
A gift straight from my heart
Could this be a courtship
A beginning, a brand new start

After flowers comes the chocolate
Then comes the tricky bit
Would you wear a locket
With a picture of me in it

Or would you prefer some earings, do you have pierced ears
So many things i need to know, before i jump in deep
I should play it cool i know
Take it slowly, see how things go
Fools rush in, too fast it seems
They give their love, they dream a dream

O tell me fancy, what do you desire
My heart yearns my ***** on fire
To hold you in my arms, held tight
I want to hold you through the night
Hold on to you 'till morning light
Begins the day, and life, so bright

The wheel will turn.


There is no rhyme or no wrong or no season

We are all just living for no reason

When the monkey came out of the tree

He knew then he'd see me looking so we had a big party

All the world lets shake hands and sing a little song and rattle your pans

It's easy if you try I've done it before a billion years ago when the dinosaurs roared

I look at us now and we're still trying to figure it out so why not beat your chest and give a big shout

The worlds a big mess and people are looking more confused wearing earings in their ***** and writing tattoos then one day we'll meet again in the trees with our furry little children and the wheel will turn once again.

I didn't kiss my girl and i won't
Cause that'll be like a quick shower
I'll snuggle her in my couch
Cuddle her with my both hands
soothe her with my dulcet words
Meneuver her stranded black hair gently across her Earings and
move them to her spine
She'll glow a want to want me Look,
And she'll pull me closer
Until my eyes are near her cleavage
And i know my iris will stuck there
She'll raise my chin and ask me
What's wrong
And i'll tell her that she's beautiful
That she deserve a boy like me
A boy who love her as she worth
And we'll go on a holiday cruise
That's where i'll woo my girl
I'll give her a pluck of roses and lilies
And we'll be coherent and surreal
This time i won't be patient
But i won't even kiss her
I'll only eat her bottom lips for sure.

poetry is so ******* gay
write about stupid **** no one cares about
i must be a ****** because i always write passages
**** those butterflies
cut off its wings
earings
earwings
emotions just a waste of chemical signals
neutralize my brain chemistry for joy atm

Caustically reddened feelings
Open heart and shaking earings
Through the snowing of December
Cherries from the marble trees

I will pick them one by one
Dead and covered with the freeze
Through my head will harshly breeze
Dance with memories about you

Though I try hard to hang onto
Kisses doomed in a breast abyss
Leaves I think would never fall
From the maples after terrors
Of those terrifying years

She loved a skeleton

flesh and bone, bone and flesh

she liked a skeletal version of me

with no hair.

But I loved her.

I loved her hair up and glasses on.

I tried to wear the earings she gave me

but they burn.