Everybody waits
for love, for the purest snow
in unseen winters.

See you in Hell

I once wrote for others
chaps so full of literature,
they would puke sonnets.

Women with legs
wearing beautiful stockings
looking like Ballads.

But they never read.
They were so full of themselves

and I wasn’t full of myself anywhere,
It took me a year of my life
to realize that
I won’t be full of myself
anytime soon.

You fuckers reading this.
Let me know,
When I’m Done.

Discover

I rinse
in the leftovers
of your smell, waiting for you
in the everlasting darkness.

For sometimes
I ache for you:
a perfect amalgamation
of flesh and tender bones
that must have bathed
in a rain of fire in her afterlives.

In morning your slither into our bed in that black dress of yours burning the dichotomy of the dissolved night and the receding day.

I then kiss, make love and regret nothing
like the human who discovered fire.

a kiss of doom
wrapped in dark hues
brews voicelessly.

the light swallows itself.

winds slither through sky
as wolves howl on the new moon.
stars watch mutely.

the tandava begins.

fury of light
bursts the sky in million pieces,
alms of thundering echoes
for mortals under the bed.

To be close to the ocean
but cannot get your feet wet.

To the smell the salty air
but cannot breathe.

To see the crimson horizon
but cannot remember.

To see your dog lying next to you
but cannot pet him.

To conjure all the words for the ocean
but cannot write.

To sleep well all your life
but cannot dream.

To love someone all your life
but cannot have them.