Mornings laced with the taste of you,A memory stoned in time,Arms biting your body inWith a promise to hold you tight.Marveling at every tiny featureThat composes your ethereal form,Consuming you with my razor eyes,So you never get forgotten,Unlike a past that feels all hazy now,I
What’s wrong if I spill myself out? I die tomorrow, don’t you know? Maybe you have all the time in the world, Maybe I am running out, And you have no idea how, But each passing breath is a goodbye From this cold world. And
You aren’t so close to me That I start whispering secrets In your ears, These secrets are afraid of distance, And if you were near I would be talking to your eyes More than to your ears, I might slip them down your lips, And
Not hard to make a poet cry, He is already about emotions. Tears race inside his soul To find the outlet of expression. He can already see With his keen eyes, The pointlessness of the thing you hold dear, How when you tighten up your
Careful laughs, Uptight walks, I am no stranger to the business of love, You don’t have to pretend To be loved, Love happens when you are you. Don’t hide behind gaudy masks, I want you bursting like a bubble To my candid talks. I wish
How do I find you our nature’s song In the din that man has created? Chirrups are clouded by whirring fans, Muffled by burring engines. Rustling leaves have a fever today, Sea is mourning a demise, Rivers no longer gush Without fishes to rush to
I have wrapped a band-aid all over my body, Coz it hurts everywhere, But I don’t heal like people often do. I carry my pain like a parched woman Carrying a pot of water Miles for her children In a deserted land. I don’t know
Is that you? Or just your wish, I can’t see past the thick layer of dust Behind which you stay hidden, Don’t you love yourself? Coz I do, Like every painting of my impeccable creator, You have been gently brushed with the finest skins And
This one is very special to me. One of my poems was so beautifully recited by Amelia Catherine Uncles that I decided to create a short sketch out of it. Her voice felt so right that I kept envisioning a man trying to find himself in
Printed stories on my body, I know I become something When I am read, I erupt in words And read someone else’s misery. I stink, But ask a lover How to smell, They leaf through me To find secrets from their hell. Few know I too