It ain’t a garden
full of roses.
It ain’t an ocean
with humming shores.
It ain’t a waterfall
with raging water.
It ain’t a sky
bleeding crimson.
but it is
a crashing spaceship
manually over-ridden.
a pit of lava,
with miseries of past.
a tornado
engulfing cities.
a subtle rain
entangled with petrichor.
my heart is just a dungeon
with a beautifully dead princess.
stuck in gravity, space
and unwanted timelines
but still breathing the blur,
still living the dream
Dreams breathe in slumber,
terrorized by the dying light.
A peninsula of thoughts,
floats in the sea of night.
The sheets wrestled
with the aching limbs.
The flesh entangled together,
breathing a melodious hymn.
Don’t you want to sleep?
You must be tired.
We had our fun now,
you must retire.
Go now into an abyss,
to be dissolved unseen.
Heal your fractured memories,
from the blood of my peeled skin.
We shall meet again in summer,
when this air smells of rain.
as strangers, as lovers
but with our faces changed.
They tell me I write somewhat ok.
I smile and greet them
as the sun greets
the minarets in the desert,
without a purpose.
Why don’t you write something about love, they say?
something about a terrible broken past,
it sells you know; they will love it,
they always relate to it.
I tell him,
I don’t get the vibes out of it.
Love sometimes feels like
eating leftover chips at
a mediocre burger joint.
I prefer watching dogs
playing in the rain
sometimes.
at least they never pretend.
Let go of the reins,
for this beloved chariot of life
is in a beautiful shamble.
a one-way trip to drink destruction
is sometimes worth it,
if you just learn to close your eyes
at the right time.
all your swirling horrors,
shall fuse and sublimate at midnight.
you would annihilate every night,
what wasn’t yours.
to create what would never be yours,
for it belongs to this world.
you are an artist,
this is how you evolve.
with sweet little deaths,
and a lifelong acrimony
to see what others refuse to.
It rained that night,
for the air was a sinful blend
of your pleasant smell
and the fresh petrichor.
In the sheets, we drowned for eternity,
like bare mermaids and mermen, making love
in the darkest hours to rage the calmed sea.
We forget our meaningless existences,
the two vagrant souls found a home within each other.
as I traced your curves;
your hair leaned to hide
your shyness from being naked,
as the incessant clouds
hides the modesty of the sky.
For your adorable smile,
I waited until the dawn.
the sunshine crowned your beauty
while gracing your modesty in the morning.
but you disrobed the curtains
and yourself slowly to threw away the crown
of beauty
and at that moment I knew,
It was going to be the longest night of ours.
The Mirrors and the Reflections,
this fresh breeze and the sunlight,
these inanimate realities
and their oxymoronic existence
amazes the child within me.
I am not a painter,
I am just a man
with a taste for colors.
I delve into them,
till the hues whisper words
that fly like butterflies.
I am not a lepidopterist(butterfly scientist)
I am just a man
with a thirst for writing.
I collect and nurture them,
till they look like a beautiful painting
made out of unseen words.
I am not a poet,
I am just a man,
with a love for beauty.
I just let the beauty flow,
like the never-ending seas
for purposes unknown.
Lightness descends
in my head
as a brief vision of yours
reincarnate within me
you were not just a beauty
last night,
you were a poetic illusion
an art made of small verses,
brewing sinful temptations
and I read you very slowly
like one of my own written creations.
for I have been a starving reader
all my life
and you were finally
an end to my starvation.
Writings to Heaven 