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.
my existence floats
over a river of dream
today I shall drown
We all have been there,
alone and desolated.
With a mutual disregard
even for the infinite tones of the sea.
Counting the uneven days,
when a bowl of unexplainable rage
was refrigerated within the spaces
between the soul and darkness.
The numbers kept us hanging.
The fat man and the little boy,
slipped past some fucking numbers,
leaving behind annihilated dreams
sublimating to the zenith of a nuclear cloud.
The beginning of a countdown
is the recipe for your destruction.
tick-tock, tick-tock
do you feel it?
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.
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.
shadows swirl slowly,
into whirlpool of darkness,
will you meet me there?
Writings to Heaven 