an oceanless shore
breathes moist vapors
and dreams of voiceless tides.
The beach is now a graveyard;
islands are the tombstones
white condolence flowers:
albatrosses that flew too high.
I sometimes feel sorry
for the rivers at the estuary.
now adjusted to a silence.
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.
you are aloof,
as you tread down this slippery
perfumed mud,
embracing the river of life
that has forgotten
changing courses,
a long way time ago.
A flood is a dream for it.
a storm is like an unexpected orgasm.
Still, you tread down happily,
in your custom-made suits
wearing hand-stitched shoes.
You like others,
shall submerge in the sea
near a voiceless estuary
that amasses countless
unspeakable bodies
If only, you would have rattled those cages
and bled in those sharp-edged
rooms, embracing your individuality
then resilience would have blessed you
with fear; and believe me a little fear
with a pair of eyes either blooms to courage
or dawns to a beautiful death.
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.
Writings to Heaven 