PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The mercy shuns the
pain. You cross the river of grief
to find out the womb of earth.

One day you will say
goodbye and go away forever. I will
stop believing in any god.

Something was left unsaid
Where those words live which
mesmerise the drowning boat.

Held between the
explosion was my drowsiness.
Pathogenesis of flawed truth?

A picture of your
holiness comes. The words float on
the water of green eyes.

I will pick the titles
of all my poems to paste on .
totem of black goddess in pain.

Pull a trigger for
a rapture. It is like a snake bite.
There is nothing more than a kill.

The shadow love follows
me without touching. We will not
exist tomorrow. God will not undo the religion.

The bee sting writes the
poem. Tone black head becomes
white. The blood wants to stop flowing.

It was my love
embargo. After separation from you,
the passion went up. There was no other pain.

I decapitated my thumb.
The power soul stops me. The moon
ran rampant. It was dark.

This was a spacewalk.
Like writing death to the sun, who wants
to sit in the lap of Buddha.

Was it physical, when
you touched the heart? Why did
you leave something, which is a mystery?

My pain still lives
in the poems after refuting the desolation
of humanity. A crack bellows the fire

I was I am not. I
talk and talk to find the truth of
crying earth. Will it survive after its murder?

When the dark rules,
the religion of the genome starts
evolving. You can donate dead sperms.

Be a vampire. There is
no ethics in becoming mad. Can
you fill in the holes of heart?

I seek new ecopain.
The lineage of ascent has
collapsed. I look into the volcano.

I will commit the
strength of love in rose buds.
There was an exodus of pain

Loud thinking. Your
future lives in your eyes. Dead
men start walking in haste.

I will refuse me. No
face making. Standing below a
palm tree, you win, and you fall.

Sometimes my hands
arrest me at night. I talk to myself to
make me reach the soul.

A poem springs from
the pain of heart. There was no
come-ness. I explore the black panthers.

I read Rumy, Pablo Neruda
and Khalil Gibran. Truth moves from.
one page to another. God shuts the eyes.

This was the night of
torture. Why the sun went to sleep
in twilight? Black panther turns vulcanic.

Let us make a bargain.
A long deep grave opens the mouth
to receive the guests seeking justice.

If you think about a
myth of a flight in a moonrise,
nobody knocks at the door.