beauty, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Time

I tried talking but somehow couldn’t 
I waited but it was not worthwhile.
How can I make you a moment,
and disappear forever 

You stay and exist as a glass,
beautiful and untouchable ,
Even In my house of touches.

I am not the winter that dies,
Not the summer that is unbearable,
I am the moon, 
I work on the tides.

Shall we dive once?
As you promised.
I need you in waves,
To drift wherever you want.

Just once again.

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creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry

Temptation

The collar bone is a mellow beauty
held by infallible black straps of the unknown
that leads to softer dominions of flesh below.
Your smile above is etched in the eye,
But my hands forget those after

The lips are poignant and colorless,
That tempts the tongue to unthinkable pursuits,
The curve slips off like a fine bottle of sun kissed glass.

The breasts and waist are sculpted of desires
draped in black
An ice cube would melt and jump off the way
Of your curves, kindled by your wamth.
Just think, what it would to my words,
When they touch your lips.
Brewing temptation in my ink.

The unbuttoning continues,
The eyes are not shy of the sun now,
But of my eyes teasing every glance of your flesh,
The cleavage is an abyss molded within the bra
I trespaas them to the soft breasts held firmly within it.
Don’t whisper now, just moan.
Tell my fingers where to move now,
Should i unhook the way your eyes tell me to.

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creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Numb

The sky is gray

A continuous shade

I bask in its glory.

The mud turns to clay

A storm is in play

But it never comes.

Each day stays the same

I don’t have to change

A stagnating story.

Your picture is still there,

a lip balm disappears.

Some memory of yours , still undone.

The sky is gray

I love this cliché

I’m comfortably numb.

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Articles, creative-writing, Desire, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Burning Sabbaticals

It has been a long hiatus, I have migrated to a new city, joined a new workspace , made an entire library and workstation but I miss the soothing of the writing I used to have. This hiatus grows on me, every time I try to sleep in the night, I wonder how my words sleep, aching, bellowing in despair to be entangled in a original thought.

It’s difficult to say where to begin and why, I must excuse the exits and replenish this sight. For today although I am drowning in my bed in this darkness, from tomorrow I shall be burning this sabbatical. It’s time to pour, outpour and flood the thoughts, lets begin, shall we?

New Writing Desk In a New City.
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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Stare

you are most beautiful
when you sleep–
when the coffee-toned notes of your skin
brew, a silent language

while your perfect lips are too tired to doubt my eyes
now, the dark mist of your breath
trickles down my neck
I wait,
I stare at you
unwaveringly.

outside there is a trail of rain,
and the wind
in the willow cage
whispers

as if it dares to tell
the moon and
all the listening night
that this silverlight should not
touch you, in front of me.

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beauty, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, poetry, Work from Home

Forever

To write about you,
Is it to dream about a song.

The humming of your voice
Is a symphony sometimes.

Do you see my heart dancing
In all the flames you set within me?

Do you feel the warmth that brews
within me, as the echo of your voice
slithers into my soul.

If you are the music,
then teach me to dance,
alone, unapologetically, forever.
Just once.

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creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Rehearsal of Loss

float sublimely,
for there is no ground beneath the toes today.
The white verandah delves a sight
as you move untouched eclipsed by warm fingertips.
the water shall soon forget itself,
it has no memory of your existence.

White voids and bright wine.
melanchony’s cocktail : a melodious blur
beneath a bright but dusty chandelier,
We have nothing to break
our silence escaped through the white windows.

we retire,
listening to the winds
and sipping some wine,
rehearsing
our exits from one-another,
our exits from ourselves,
our exits from our pasts.

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