Today

Today I want to smile less,
Something I have breathed in tells me,
Today I should smile less;
Today I feel quiet and calm,
Today has come again.

Some excitement has left me,
I am not dull,
I am silent, listening to my breathes,
Looking at things,
So many things;
All quiet and calm,
Just like my today.

And now the today is yesterday,
And I know the today will come again tomorrow..

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Ode to the little storm

You can push my clothes,
You can push my hair,
You can push the curtain away;
But my body remains erect,
My vision remains erect,
And you can’t push them in anyway.
I do like you fierce,
But fierce will not scratch me,
It may move me good,
If my will wills,
It may raise me high,
If my mind is.
But you are sweet,
Like the salt of humidity,
Your little caresses and kisses,
Like the child’s swing in sky,
Conditioning my mind and heart,
Remitting the day’s effort,
Undoing the clandestine meet with the sun;
Your breath blows unhackneyed each time,
Renewing passions of inner me.
Should I fight you or love?
Breathe you or live you?
Should I dance or meditate,
Smile or lose my mind;
Where do you come,
You are neoteric,
To love,
To peace,
To life,
To me.

Ache

​My throat aches,

Between the brows,

A little below, between my two eyes,

It aches,

Like sounds and words do,


Stuck like after a thong of hammer,

Faintly vibrating with dry pain,


The pain of complaints,

Of rebels, and of fingers

Pointing in all direction.


Chaos is not the word,

Crowd, unsatisfied,

Taking and accusing,

Yelling and laughing,

New bees with digital power,

With a broad mind and a tiny door,

A little ‘enter’ door, 

A huge gap of ‘My throat aches,Between the brows,

A little below, between my two eyes,

It aches,

Like sounds and words do,


Stuck like after a thong of hammer,

Faintly vibrating with dry pain,


The pain of complaints,

Of rebels, and of fingers

Pointing in all direction.


Chaos is not the word,

Crowd, unsatisfied,

Taking and accusing,

Yelling and laughing,

New bees with digital power,

With a broad mind and a tiny door,

A little ‘enter’ door, 

A huge gap of ‘exit’.

Dead Heart

There was no honey when I reached,

Just a little reminder of its smell,

There were no fair promises,

But filthy truths and bare wounds,

Wounds covered with only air,

A foul and false air,

I found it easier to live,

To sleep beside a silent beast,

A beast behind his blood.

Only behind his blood.

He was clown in expensive attires,

A gentleman who didn’t know what gentle meant,

No anger, fiery boiling blood,

Just cold icy feet and sweaty hands,

A little laugh, when on the peak.

When I started living double,

Laughing double,

Raw and virgin, used and forgotten,

Nothing but taken to the dead heart.

Appeal

When I wanted to write you,

Works at hand were plenty,

And you invaded them but hopelessly;

The bitten thumb nail,

Irregular near the middle,

Catches my eye and fixes my thought,

On the thoughts flowing in sweety dream,

Day dreaming I do in day, 

And in evening and before I sleep,

For that is where I find you,

Playing in my absence with looks

That will steal.
No more stealthy kisses,

No more discreet fondling,

No more hiding hearts, inside the little jewellery box,

Come face to face and tell the world,

Where your sweet heart’s name is printed,

On the cover of flesh, that is called mortal heart,

Where a black colourful sign shines,

Show me at least, if not the sign,

But the watery eyes.

Death awaits..

I do not know what place is this,

Where my heart and head has stopped,

When and why, I know although

But they are all long gone,

What remains and what remained,

Is you and your tireless universe,

My fanatic wait, and your dreamy lust,

My sleepy eyes, and your cunning heart,

My human breath, your divine desires,

All reserved in the green envy,

Warmth hangs like clinging chains,

And rich fragrance aches every tissue,

Death awaits in both wilds,

And I chose one terror over another.

Before Death Arrives..

My mind’s not empty,

Nor is it filled of you,

But of barks of tiredness

Between, a few flowers

Of real happiness lie;

Even though I speak not,

Even though I do not hear,

My mind echoes in talks 

Of mere young problems;

Even through crowd.

It is a busy city of noises,

Imaginations and more,

Fights at all squares,

Among people of same land,

And water, and air.

It tries to wear a hide,

Tight enough to cease

The pain, these echoes give;

And lie in utter peace, once,

Before death arrives.