and the hours we laid
naked exploring each other
with an insatiable thirst,
somewhere our vulnerabilities had melted
by the fireplace into sweat,
gasps became moans,
and the love turned to passion
as the war ended
we retreated like causalities
snuggling for comfort in each other
I believe this is how
I felt an unending trust
that hugged me invisibly
while you slept next to me
that night.
I crave for power,
more than the glittery gold
or stack of cash bundles
It’s kind of megalomaniacal but sane
because when they come for me,
barehanded and blood thirsty
only my gut and the healed bruises
will serve me truly
ink spilled
over papers or parchments
by the devoted disciples,
to govern for the unseen holy authority
never imagined that their devotion,
would be so misunderstood
that the rivers would be full of blood,
crusade would be full of cries of children
and a symbol or a petty face
would conjure fears
in generations to come
when a smile can’t guide to us love
but a scripture can guide us,
to hate that is when you know
that the world is doomed not due to lack of love
but due to ignorance of it.
Curled up
in a corner
staring at the mossed walls
amidst the light that devours fireflies
the petrichor is now stronger
than all the ales I had
this reverie
the imagery shows no sign of ceasing
and with everything coming back to me
I am ready to stumble again
and fall every step
to write and rewrite
the joy is somewhat incessant
like it always has been.
Writings to Heaven 