"hideouts" poems
Better the gorillas of Rwanda are given birth certificate
Within a brief while of their visiting the earth,
Their security is guaranteed by the state machinery
Basking in the full confidence of three meals a day,
Not wary of political repression based on suspicion,
They have a national day in their honour
Fully agitated for clean environment
By the political incumbentcy,
They are now the first class citizens
As the Rwandese citizens of human origin
Of varied political stand suffer under agony
In prisons and exiles, jails and hideouts
On the run for ever for fear of their lives.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
9:43 on a frigid clear morning, the morning I made the conscious decision to stand as far as possible from the dropoff to the train tracks, and an older gentleman next to me, newspaper folded, saying "It's a cold one today, isn't it". And I smiled in agreement and I drank my overpriced coffee, fogging up the sky.
10:13 on the train, unwashed windows turning the sun dirty-bright, and I didn't drift off for it as all the men in suits and flatlined mouths slowly did.
And 11:36 in the City, a man I had decided not to love and his sarcastic appreciation of modern art, and me laughing endlessly. And this man showing me his secret hideouts and telling me secret stories, stories that you earn. I had decided not to love him, though, and so I didn't. It was easy because he had made no such call.
And 5:52 in his marble high-rise and his bed that was bigger than my bed, on it, he told me he had decided not to love me too. And then we kissed, and kissed, with nothing-to-lose moving our hands and mouths all over each other. Nothing-to-lose tangling his sheets and relaxing our heartbeats, and making them audible.
8:04 on the night of the morning I began to fear the third rail and the whoosh of the New Haven line, a bruise on my neck and my kiss-swollen mouth flashed red and dirty-bright to the post-commuters, and the man I forgot not to love still in the city, and the feeling of peaceful but irreversible damage heavy on my lap.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Everything is asleep
and in pain, in love
and dreaming
about another life
I say to myself,
it is time I take my own
lookout, unfaithful
sailors know they can't
see a thing but they keep
their place on the prow
out there in the darkness
where boats are colliding,
oh yes, they are blind
or awake feeling the dark
like light, like those levels
of cold and heat underwater,
you know what I mean,
when you are dreaming
or in danger, that place
where fish live and sleep,
sometimes I think I understand
everything, but I know that
I am wrong, and incredible
as it seems, the shadow I see
when I'm hung, I want to think
of hideouts in the mountains
where a man can go to die there.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
You wear your black tie
like a felony.
You wear your dark sunglasses
like a criminal.
I'm your little wallflower;
hiding in your hideouts,
riding down your highways,
looking for escape and I
don't know where I'm going.
Don't mind where I am.
I suppose I don't know.
Grim Reaper! These pills make life seem sweeter!
Sin eater... could you make me clean again?
Am I still "pertinent" to your heart?
[Am I your little wallflower?]
Am I the one you love?
I don't know where I'm going,
but I don't mind where I am.
I suppose I don't know,
and these dark sunglasses
so I never have to look away;
today is such a perfect day.
Twenty one years and
it's always been the same.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
Fast her wild days ran tall as forest foxglove,
long the happy sun of wing full prayers and beating drums
grassy knees ripening green on summer's lawn
honeycombed hideouts of laughing stings and bees
running long through wild meadows
pale of butter's milky cream
a child's face soft as flower petals
so quick to bud into full bloom
blushing in her rosy days
a swan soon flies to the wild unknown
there where an hourglass looks on
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
you ever feel like we’re too connected?
like everything is so crowded and jammed up that we don’t notice each other
the little things, the stop to smell the roses moments pass us by
and we are rushing from here to there
to and fro
ants in an ant farm
squished unknowingly up against the glass
the sun glares down
like a hungry beast
we scurry into our holes and hideouts
communicating in ones and zeros
but always missing the point
we seek meaning and passion and excitement
but complain we have no courage
our lives move and move like rafts on the Mississippi
But I had better things to do than read Huck Finn
hours of mindless entertainment
and then no inspiration
endless desert of desperation and depression
hop from one city to the next
no end in sight
run from problems
hide from anything that could make life exponentially better
callous and fearless and crude
joking about life and death to cope with grief
take everything for granted
burn bridges, never let them see you cry
let the status quo control you
go to college, get a job
don’t be a burnout, dropout, failure
let them define happiness
and let them measure my success
overweight
sunburned
living in a garage
if that’s not success
I don’t know what is
the adolescent american dreaming of easy money
can’t even drive a car
I need glasses and new pants
bought running shoes
but I’m only running from my problems
bury my anger and depression
nervous laughing
crack a joke, as long as you don’t crack
you’re fine
talk about your goals
but only half-heartedly pursue them
like a cop who wants the donuts more than the punks he chases
I want a wife, a life, of happiness with kids and a house
a degree and income
talk about religion and philosophy
read books, but never bother to finish
inconsistent, and never complete
talk when you don’t know what you’re saying
never admit “I don’t know”
count your friends on one hand
but don’t let it know what the other hand’s doing
my mind has a mind of its own
I never bother to follow through
like a tree that is uprooted by the storm
struck with wanderlust I fly away
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
Ascending to the second layer,
a stench of nauseating breath
expands across the zephyr.
I attempt to avoid a cough
and the opaque fog thickens
as we reach an abrupt drop-off.
Depicted below are frantic beings
who have only the remembrance of
anxiety, torment, and panicked feelings
hiding amongst the remaining rubble
in a soft whisper they beg for mercy,
neglecting against their fatal,
violent destruction on the vitality of the innocent.
The scent swells to an intense sickening
along with the dryness of incalescence.
A low growl begins to rise!
Traveling across the infinite distance,
a foul creature comes to brutalize.
The petrified beings cower in their hideouts
and I hold my breath carefully as
three giant, damp, and cold snouts
emerge from the heavy smog.
A rush of frigid wind washes over
and I come to realize, it is the Watchdog.
One risks a dangerous error
in the act of running to the void, but
the motion distracts the devious hunter.
He strikes and pins the immoral,
viciously tearing the flesh to pieces.
Finally, taking him in the muzzle
Cerberus violently tosses the limp body
for it no longer contains value nor interest.
And I ask my Lover very faintly:
“What becomes of the one enduring torture?”
And he, nonchalantly: “Don’t worry, my dearest.
They have yet to regain their composure.”
As we escape from the horror below
to the unknown exceeding cruel,
the dying mortal begins to regrow.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
Undress all my doubts,
Especially, the ones in secret hideouts
Embrace my deepest fears,
Piled up hurt from the past years
Kiss my scars gently to leave your mark,
Light the fire of your love in my dark
Hold tight my numb surviving heart,
Drench it in the river of emotions so it could restart
Make love to my soul,
So it might feel whole.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
I DON'T WRITE LETTERS, JUST POEMS
BUT IF THIS IS AN OPEN LETTER THEN IT'S GOT THE ADDRESS
OF ALL YOUR HIDEOUTS, ALL YOUR GHOST TOWNS
TATTOOED ON IT
SO **** YOU FOR ALL THAT WE'VE BEEN THROUGH
I FEEL LIKE I LEFT ALL MY PIECES IN YOUR BEDROOM,
THERE'S NO PEACE HERE IN MY HEAD
LAST TIME I SAW YOU I FELT LIKE I RELAPSED
BACK INTO MY BEST BAD HABIT
I’M SO ******* STUPID, SWORE I WOULDN’T BUT I’M A LIAR
PAST BEHAVIOR IS THE BEST INDICATOR OF FUTURE BEHAVIOR
AND IF YOU'VE BEEN AN ADDICT,
I'VE HEARD YOU'RE ALWAYS GOING TO BE ADDICT
EVEN WHEN YOU'RE CLEAN
I'VE HEARD THAT YOU'RE ALWAYS GOING TO BE
ITCHING FOR SOMETHING
SO DOES IT MAKE ANY SENSE WHEN I SAY
I THINK I LOVE YOU AGAIN?
I THINK THAT'S A GOOD METAPHOR
BECAUSE WE DIDN'T HAVE A LOVE LIKE NURSERY RHYMES
AT OUR BEST WE WERE A HORROR STORY,
AT OUR WORST WE WERE JUST AN ALLEGORY
AND THE SUN FELL IN LOVE WITH THE MOON
WHAT A ******* TRAGEDY, LOVERS WHO COULD NEVER BE
LOVERS WHO COULD NEVER EXIST
AT THE SAME TIME AND PLACE,
ALWAYS PASSING EACH OTHER BY LIKE SHIPS IN THE NIGHT
EXCEPT I'M NOT THE SUN
AND YOU'RE SURE AS HELL NOT THE MOON
WE'RE MORE LIKE COMETS ONLY DESTINED TO COLLIDE
AND CHIP EACH OTHER'S SHOULDERS
ON OUR WAY OUT THE DOOR
AND IF WE WERE A SHIP THEN WE WERE A SINKING ONE
SO WHY DO I FEEL LIKE THE TITANIC WITHOUT YOU?
TRYING TO BAIL MYSELF OUT
I DIDN'T THINK THIS IS WHAT LOVE
WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT
AND YOU KNOW WE HAD IT COMING LIKE A TRAIN EN ROUTE
INESCAPABLE,
I'M ABLE TO SEE LIKE HINDSIGHT IS 20/20
BUT I SWEAR I NEVER SAW A BETTER VISION THAN YOU
AND I THINK I'M A LITTLE SCARED THAT YOU'LL ALWAYS BE
IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD, AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS,
HIDDEN EVERY POEM I EVER WRITE
I'M SO SORRY THAT EVERY SONG ON THE RADIO
FEELS LIKE IT'S ABOUT US
YOUR VOICE USED TO CRACK ON ALL THE HIGH NOTES
YOU'RE STILL THE BEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD
AND THIS IS A STORY THAT'S ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN
PLAGIARIZATION OF MY OWN DREAMS
I THINK THINGS ARE JUST AS OFTEN WHAT THEY SEEM
AS THEY AREN'T
AND I THINK SOMETIMES ANGRY IS JUST A STYLISTIC CHOICE
BECAUSE BEING SAD IS PLAYED OUT
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
I never trusted that warmth in your tank.
I've always smelled something fishy
About the hot moisture on the glass
And how the water is close to boiling,
Since it's coming from this hell
Where monsters share the night
And leave you waiting til the sun
Rises to scare them to their hideouts.
And I almost caught it red-handed,
'Cause now that warmth is gone
And suddenly you're so cold,
Not the kind of cold
That drips on my palms
When I take you right from the water
To let you play in my hands
And you would find a hole to creep out of
And try to fly
As if this whole world
Is your own ocean.
Now it's the kind of cold
That no longer crawls and squirms
To escape from me,
'Cause you've already found the way out.
And you even left the doors open
As your empty eyes stare at me.
You won't look around now,
Just when you've decided to open your eyes more.
I can no longer see you,
Just when you've decided not to hide in your shell anymore.
But it wasn't that warmth after all.
It was the warmth that wasn't there
When you needed it the most.
And it's such a shame the turtle sticks came too late
And they were no longer enough
To keep you wanting to be home with me.
But they still were no later than my sorry
And bathroom-borne sobs
Which you won't be able to hear anymore,
Or even understand.
And the green in the portrait I made of you,
The pixels of your images,
And your shy face on my desktop,
Can never be as alive as you once were.
But you just can't
Let me place you in this jar
I labeled 'good days,'
Pour over some sand,
And keep you there and wait
Until there finally is a place that we can call ours,
Where our remains won't be called tenants.
Darling, why now?
You will still need a bigger tank,
You will still grow up with me,
You will still marry Shelly,
If ever she makes it.
God, let her make it.
You can't be gone now,
You just can't.
I haven't even finished our song yet.
Will you really leave me here,
Writing songs about valuables I lost,
People I sent away,
And every living that died at my feet?
I guess you will
But I just can't get used to it,
Nor do I want to get used to this;
To have to get up
But not want to wake up
And attend every tragedy
As if I were death's representative.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
The depths of my despair are gradually fading away.
My downfall, my shortcomings, I've familiarized them already.
Any wise words could never ever blow a gun on me,
Preach to me not, nothing would matter really.
It was like a century of pure sentiments;
You will be haunted of my innocence and silence.
Discontentment will creep back to you as if it were a consequence
Run to your hideouts now and bid farewell to your merriment.
Shuffling yesterdays and tomorrows that may fall into a fusion;
Have you pore over yourself and have your own evaluation?
Oh! My dear old friend, I guess you haven’t.. it’s just safe not to mention.
And for a conclusion, that’s why you've made that quick decision.
Well said, well done and my emotions enslaved me for an instance,
An avalanche of good and bad memories flashes back without any nuance
But, fearless, I am this time and ready to embrace acceptance;
Rejection and motivation that is definitely a balance.
A blue sky, I’ll paint and maybe world peace, I’ll create,
You will soon notice me like fireworks with just a free spirit
Midst conflicting egos before anyone could speculate,
I’ll leave my mark, a highlight, and that is how I’ll operate.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
Conspiracies and plots are real things ,but Where are those plotters and those conspirators ?! Always hiding in their ugly hideouts just To order the visible and invisible scenarios ... All ends justify the means ,so Disguised and masked , Those plotters and those conspirators quietly Stage their evil Anywhere and everywhere ...
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Rarebit fiend
with an insatiable appetite
zapped internally
******* off wi-fi
looking for hideouts
and new gold wings
the brilliant glow
through a transom window
summons him
feeds on the sleeping man
programming him
into a pathogen
Mar 13, 2024
Mar 13, 2024 at 2:38 PM UTC
Boating on the canal made me notice summer's return for the first time
and immediately I missed winter. The way my head tilted forward,
spine protruded. I spat fire and ash, a small dragon;
my skin sagged like a coat on a cold blue hanger.
One morning after I'd spent the night with a boy,
while he showered I saw a skeleton in his wardrobe mirror
so ugly in loose underwear, the darkened hair lank,
skin grey and sunk to bone and it all disappeared
when turned to one side.
How could he share a bed with that? I thought then,
seeing clear how I existed for the reality of others,
as a shell, offensive to the eye, a skull-head.
-
The voices came not long after,
and in clinic bathrooms
a coyote hungry stare,
the silence of September.
For thousands of days I had not felt my body.
In my mouth grew ulcers and teeth died.
,
I really did stare at the sun and started drinking water again,
Slowly started eating again until I managed pasta and pie.
My body now- I think I'm touching my arm but instead feel thigh.
There are the bones of an elephant
gravely buried inside me.
There are phantom limbs attached,
they belong to soldiers who shared beers
in Vietnamese hideouts,
they belong to the widows who lose their wedding rings
down the garbage disposals.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
Another dull winter day painfully crawls away
into garden-variety biography
just a run-of-the-mill résumé
filled with antecedents whilom
and to top it up
a corrosive impostor syndrome.
I lie quietly in the flickering, yellow light
of a jaundice-stricken forty-watt bulb
trying to think about something superb
which would somehow improve
the way things do (or do not) move
in my achromatic life.
Nothing worthwhile emerges.
Only some vague urges act out
from their stingy hideouts.
The clock pushes the evening further
into the dry, arid chill of the night so still.
I sigh and switch off my ghost-like
sleepy, vapid eyes
into the ancient time-line
of a vast, un-bridged solitude
in my quarantined, immotile life.
© Chandra S., 1995
Jan 28, 2020
Jan 28, 2020 at 10:09 AM UTC
There once was a time that I created
a new language with everyone I met
that I wanted to keep around. Together
we'd make up new words to describe
the things we felt that we knew others
would never understand and we used
inside jokes and silly things that happened
to make sense of other things or to forget
things that hurt more than we cared
to admit. For a while the people I met and I
would explore town and claim little hideouts
as our own and everyone got one
but no one ever shared the location
with anyone else.
We would meet at sunrise or sunset
depending on the day and talk about all the things
everyone else would think us bratty or stupid
or whatever for saying. Where we would write
and paint, laugh and cry, give birth and die
just a little more each time. But it was never
meant as a bad thing. When I was younger
I talked to people and I knew what happiness was
but when my teacher taught me
about the taste of ink and the feel of keys
beneath my fingers I traded reality for
what I could create myself. I longed for a story
better than dreams and kinder than the
real thing. But I quickly became addicted
to that feel. Now I'm sitting behind a
brightly lit screen opening healed wounds
and cutting into my veins as I search for
new ways to say the things poets have beat me to
by centuries and trying to convey the cruelty
of this world around me that really isn't
all that cruel. And I really don't think you
are able to comprehend this but I thought
if anyone would listen to me it would be you.
And I figured if I was going to bleed out tonight
this would be the best canvass.
Thank you for all of your kindness
and love. Thank you for only ever believing
in me and wishing me the best. Thank you
so much for everything. I will not let you down
this time.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
*While I stood immobilized in thought the sunlight turned wet streets into diamonds
People slowly returned from their storm shelter hideouts
I remember the sound of tires plowing through rain pools
A fools reflection in a store window , a straggling gust of air , the pang of solitude , scribbled chalkboard innuendo
My God stares over my shoulder with an eraser
Omitting filthy thoughts committed to the board
Smacking my young hands with rulers , the 'stuff' of unchecked imagination entwined in thorn
Hands clasped beneath my chin
Deciphering godliness from mortal sin
These wrinkled , wicked hands that feed city park birds
Eyes that recognize those in need can secretly undress women
on the busy streets
Was Jesus the beggar I looked away from or was he the
********** I made fun and sport of
Plodding the avenue , dreading home
Planning every moment , calculating every roll of the bones on the game board* ...
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
“I think I might just
Be in love with this sunshine.
Come break the earth with me
Sink your roots and be a tree.”
“I think I might just-“
Sign up for the thrill, you said.
Back when young hands would rest
On strong shoulders.
Those withered hands of mine
Now drawn to channel the furrows of my forehead.
An attempt to plough over the years of conflict,
But nothing will erase.
“Be in love with this sunshine.”
For it won’t last, you said.
Back then when I joined as a brother
In all but blood.
I didn’t heed your warnings then,
I guess I foolishly supposed that the sun would always shine for us.
The sun may still play upon the scarred recesses of my skin,
But my eyes see nothing now.
“Come break the earth with me,”
The ground is hard and we dig best together, you said.
Back then when trenches were still reminiscent of childhood hideouts
and games of glorious battle.
But we knew nothing of war,
and our minds grew like a tiny maze
with many dead ends packed in there.
We paid dearly for our ignorance.
“Sink your roots and be a tree.”
Then I’ll do the same, you said.
Back then when you would laugh in abstract thought while I smiled
With my hand around your shoulder and yours around mine.
The snipers got you in the end.
I feel relief now, that you never lost your innocence,
that you didn’t live to see how much of myself I lost
When you passed.
In the presence of the sun I raked the earth
With trembling hands beneath a tree
Pondering upon how ancient your face seemed all of a sudden
Set starkly against the ****** soil of your makeshift grave.
And I remembered
When young hands upon shoulders were still strong,
Now I reach for that same grime-encrusted hand upon my shoulder
But it’s no longer there
And neither are you.
*“I think I might just
Be in love with this sunshine.
Come break the earth with me
Sink your roots and be a tree.”*
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
"Do everything that makes you feel alive."
What am I suppose to do,
If you are my everything,
If you makes me feel alive,
And if you are everything that makes me feel alive?
I want to do you.
I want to do you.
Every nook and cranny.
Every secret hideouts.
Oh, what a great feeling must it be,
To feel you want to do me more.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
Definitely defying distant memories of a time well spent on deepening the gaze into reality vs fiction.
Lives lost in the shuffle of pleasantries and social wannabes.
I know what the hell I don't want to understand in this life's dos and don'ts.
Hanging mirrored picture frames mixed with printed wooden Scrabble games.
The minds best outlet for verbal spewage across and in-between these thick painted lines on green plastic grassroots.
And the Stadium is packed full!
Outfitting Batman's infantries while shrouding Robin's hideouts.
Burning bushes know much pain while badges shine at lights out.
Find your passions through these smoking guns are tagged with stain. F#ck the rules and F#ck yourself bewitching your betrayed.
Handcuffed concrete convicts can't contain who holds the key.
m olding, Move ing, working parts to Help The bl I nded see…,,,...
07/02/2019
L. DeCypher
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 11:53 PM UTC
I love the way the Sea comes rolling in
Towards me
And all I can do is lower my arms
Helplessly
To gather these cherubic expressions
Toddlers and young ones so full
Of spontaneity
And I take them to my breast
Grateful for the unfailing love of their greetings
They know me
I am them, of them, for them
Born on this land of golden sand & sun
Naura of the ancient,
Kannur in present times
And here I am with these watery rings
Waltzing around me
In great camaraderie
Tempting to go deeper, further in
To feel the water boulders slam
The shores shoulder
And the wet soggy sand
Hauled like sheets of golden veils
With each ebb of the waves
Caving into large hideouts
Known only to my curling toes
I love the way the Sea comes
Wave after wave elbowing their way
Towards me
Cornering me from all sides
They are so full of glee
Like pups of Portugues water dogs
They want to play games of frisbee
With me thrown about in the air
Riding the highs to the sky
As though on a giant trampoline
Full of exuberance of the teens
Wave after wave wearing high on their crowns
curly filigreed milky white veils
Finally they settle down
To shy bridal countenance
All the while twirling about
In coquettish stance
From the corner of my eyes
I see them drawing near
Echoing the turbulence inside
And I stretch my arms to gather
the varying cadence of tiny wavelets
Ushering in whispered nothing's
Beneath the crash of the giants
At the threshold of this blessed land
-----
Seema Kj
©SeemaKJayaraman
2 Jun 2022
Kannur Payyambalam
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 9:47 PM UTC
If it's not sizzling
you took it out too soon
brother
cheese must
dissolve into
your taste buds
root bound for leather.
Imagination stopped him in his tracks
decided to write her letters he never sent
why bother another locked door?
It froze him like Hans Solo trapped in carbonite.
Her hands are
already up if you decide to shoot
her foxy eyes said to them,
I saw myself glow deathless one day five years ago. She still cannot contact the local papers.
Imagination made her hands react by throwing all her law books out her three story Life Window
.
She cut out early
broke rank and predictions
her wild burst for adventure
followed a pathless trail
tracking down Emerald Falls
on stunning summit view
We saw everything turn brighter there.
She wears Forest Eyes at all times in her cleaner vision for everyone.
Is this entire lush range our playground?
Process that one.
Die.
Get reborn.
Pick me up if my spine is dragging truck wrecks on coral reef tarmac.
I appreciate you.
Music drifted out a stranger's window
after I picked myself back up
I limped into perfect no drama hideouts
regardless of your shapeless face
I consider you my best friend.
Bucking 10, 000 bales of hay
is a training manuel for life:
a) never give up
b) believe
c) be stronger
d) be better
e) all of the above
The Mountain Lion living in his garden
licked his face that morning
shape shift into robin
glide up
to touch his favorite Indigo
her flawless smile
roped around the Milky Way
we both fell harder than unpredictable comets
she snaked through our skin
like the starry way lived inside us
decided to win us over
no better choice than to ride it like a motorcycle rider trying to reach love on 3 a.m. back roads drunk on vines
always following the river
even if she rejected him
his letter burned right through his brand new black pocket of August Leather
and
set
the speedometer
on fire,
forever.
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 10:51 PM UTC
rapping on your window, wondering if you'll let me in
all the gals down on the E train placed bets on you
saying no, but here we are, back at your door
anyway, because why not have faith in luck
wearing my stolen blue mink, don't tell me if she wants it back
she don't know me, nobody invited her anyway
maybe outer space has bigger plans for her
could be
so come on, johnny, take me dancing, c'mon, baby
let me in, it's warm up on your roof but cold without you
look, stole you magnolias, and my whole back seat is full
excellent Chinese takeout, so baby come out tonight
just come on out and show me around this ten cent town
never been here before, wanna see your hideouts
let's go to some dive bars, dance til our heels fall off
you can wear my blue mink if you'll loan me those
crazy spiked boots, toss me a hat
here we go, finally, a night on this town
can't wait to see Spanish Harlem
with you
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
Let me give your stream water of life
Let me take taste and flavor of youth
Be mine take me on the edge of knife
With reality and truth, let me sooth
Let me **** all wine from the grapes
Let me take all wine from the fountain
Let me travel through curves ,shapes
Let me in front of blazon just to stun
Let me play with full moon at night
Let me seek beauty from the hideouts
Let me take all streaks of your light
Let my beloved clear all your doubts
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:32 AM UTC