Image Source I was a heavy sigh, A comma between an inundated silence & the weeping feet; I tried to warn the silk shadows of patience into a lie But mellow sunshines rise to derail my poems. Judgement Day is walking, With a head in a creeper, out-growing the dogs barking in my head (orContinue reading “After-sighs”
Before I lose any more time Here is a sight that would not lose you amidst a crowded loneliness Because it sees you, beyond the clouds covering your haunted visage It’s the beating of a heart going berserk Each minute is a dreadful wailing of an infant dragging its frail body as fast as itContinue reading “Pain (#15)”
I am a flower pot Tumbling down the table, I still shatter in your palms As you try to catch me; Now we’re both bleeding world’s sucking our tongues while the galaxies around us burst open into nothingness My mouth is a sex fluttering like the butterfly in your belly It crawls down your abdomenContinue reading “Demise (#15)”
We share the sins that bind us. The tip of my tongue is the sun melting in your eyes. You see it clearly, you let it burn your throat while coughing lava on the plain white walls.
The Gardner – that made me, you and the bellowing universe amidst a poetry of Creation, a scream of magnificence.
Rosebud ring. In a circle of perfection, I make haste. I push past the gardens that come clapping my chin with fresh petals. I revive the sounds of the past and they morph into your name. I shake my head, they’re louder by the minute. The rains have never been kinder. And the stars haveContinue reading “The Kiss (#10)”
I want to be an openness bending at the tip of the sunlight falling on my back. But I’m also afraid of burning in my own fire. I carry my hostilities like a poet who adores perspiring on a hot sunny afternoon in the arms of an old monument that houses some grand secrets onlyContinue reading “Of Silly Ruminations”
It’s a touch I recognise and swallow – a strawberry taste/ a bathing tide/ a summer scream.
I remain a sinner seeking heaven – an irony dodging misery only to write poems on it.
Her mouth is a language you know all too well, but beneath it is a forest that gardens its own warmth, a hope that eats itself because it has never been fed.