Pardon my Alter Ego.
My poems fall like snow from the
eyes like jewels of thoughts and tears.
The words deem meaning
of about turn. Each truth cries. I will
go away with light in lonely sky.
A nameless pain takes
revenge. Why do we start the beginning
of living burial in the dark lake?
You lift me like air.
I float in your red eyes
for lovely pain.
You introduce me to
tears, with hybrid blood. Will we
ever sleep on the eye lashes?
It breaks the heart.
A burning embrace of torches to read
the last death of black love.
An apparition cultivated, was
a treason? You started brewing the light in
front of me impacted.
Very close to the moon
exquisitely? What do you see beyond
the end? Why did you turn into a beast?
Who will raise the voice
against the watchman of heaven? Will you
shed the penultimate ornaments?
Complicity was nude
Glass windows always betray the
contours of truth. Pain starts screaming.
The silence has many
roots. Why were you born in this
century? Afternoon was cool in black sun
The paradox of wordless
reality has many shades. Religion and
crimes have come nearer. I will stop praying.
Undressing the moon
clouds want to kill the lovebirds.
I cross the vision for a nuance.
This was a paradigm.
Why are things disappearing?
Mimicry will not like poetry.
Like Mimosa pudica,
you shrink in a blast to get a tattoo.
The sparrows find the lost homes.
Undressing the moon
clouds want to kill the lovebirds.
I cross the vision for a nuance.
This was a paradigm.
Why are things disappearing?
Mimicry will not like poetry.
Like Mimosa pudica,
you shrink in a blast to get a tattoo.
The sparrows find the lost homes.
What ignites you when
snow falls on your eyes and you start
seeing the nightmares of fire.
Still pain. What you begin
to feel. Temple was black. Inside
the jewels sit as golden moons on walls.
You look different now.
What your vision will tell. Mountains
are walking on the bodies of humans.
Lungs ago, you were a
priest of ancient gods. Now you want to
sleep in a beautiful sarcophage.
You feel as if somebody
gropes you when you sleep, but forgetfully
a dot comes in between. Was it misconduct.
Unsealing a lotus flower,
when the poet sits on the coiled cobra.
After all you were also a creator.
Do the words fight?
Abide by the amber. Ornaments
are ready. Humanness suffers.
You don't need a whip.
I was anorexic. The king had to
walk gingerly on the cupped hands.
The sun stands against
the wall. The purple moon will not
sit at the feet of light.