Impressions

And then dreams
Long and persistent
Take me off to you beloved you
Not unlike when all in me turns cold
I should find life vigorous and strong
Ringing the bells
Of my soul’s dingy door
Asking permission
To let me be again


And in the day the sun comes shining
So tender in me you melt
Leaving only
An impression of warmth

The Irony of Love

here

He advances towards her with heavy steps that evoke no motion in the sand beneath his bare feet. The urge to burst out and evaporate into the air now abandons him; it’s hurt so much it doesn’t hurt any more.

   She sits two footsteps away from where the waves hit the shore. Her eyes flash to the sky. An eternity ago, she could tell time by the position of moon; now, though, everything stands transfixed.

   As their two haggard entities intertwine, they feel it digging its way through the holes between them and a dream-like past, it crashes them and yet binds them together; and as they hear its sinister silence lurking beneath their tears, it becomes impossible to elude…they have inhaled all the glow love had, and now, it is time to be burnt by the fire.

To you who is no longer there

here

I will fight all that's tempting me to be poetic, and I"ll catch words as they come.

  I try to imagine how things would be like if caught by a camera. I shut my eyes and paint everything in sepia. And when the world fades to black and white, I wish for colors resurrecting it. But at times, when soul breathes into life, I find myself crashing within the tempests it evokes.

  And I envy the characters in movies; free from existence, but in their folds, you can see all the tiny complexities of how it is to be alive. It's then when I weave myself into one.

  I just need to tell you..there is nothing intricate to me; draw a line between a million drop of rain with a black pen and I will be the image glittering behind your eyelids.

Scene Zero

Behind a screen

Of red green blue

She is entrapped

And breaks

As luster abandons

Her eyes once so luminous

And before him

She stands

In a white paper

Suffused with her

Painted in

Colors quite different

Between never and forever

Both dance

And tear off the heavy

Garments of now

But the curtain has

To eventually fall

And instead of the end

It’s written  

That to love

There is no moral lesson

                                     

In The Nonexistence

Breathe

In-out

In-out

In the morning

Sometimes it’s just

Too hard to breathe

 

Your porcelain skin

Hovers

Not two inches away

And I can’t reach out to

Touch it

Touch you

In the nonexistence

 
I run

But I can't elude

That everything you mean to me

Is always  meant to be

Everything

Which is Which

They say,

“To hold your faith,

You should keep it blind”

Afraid

You’d open your eyes

 And see

It’s just the darkness

And the screeching voices

Pull you back and forth

Torn between

A hundred falsenesses

All having the title:

“Truth”

Beyond it all

There lies a challenge

In a time less

Than your years on this Earth

Can you pick one difference

Between two pictures

Called “Facts” and “Lies”

And tell

Which is which?

The Deceit of Words

I carried two heavy weights with my hands stretched before me to test my endurance for pain. I tried to resist myself and found-even when I succeeded- that "self-resistance" is the trickiest of all terms: I could go there, let my hands down and say, "I have resisted and succeeded," and it'd be nevertheless true. Is not the "good voice" part of the self too?!