PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I don't understand,
what I muse. The legacies were
very rich for a long meaning.

Beauty and love, l
will read the Gita. Then comes a barren
truth in between the lies.

There was no fever. Still
the winter does not go. The candle
burns but no light at feet. Only sorrow.

Your language spins,
and you want to repatriate your
holy words. Nascent love opens the eyes.

The cruel pain comes
again and again. I was hunting
the wounded cobra and smelled fear.

What offends your heart?
I wanted justice for readers who
don't want the book of rebirth.

It was modernism.
The wind blows above the wings.
Poetry shouts war.

An ocean pain spreads.
Weather beats the years. Like tangerines
you hallucinate red poppies.

You have taken away
my eyes, ears and tongue. I will
not run out the blood tears.

You had opened up
with a fragile body and collided with
the moon. Some pieces of light fell down.

Path of shattered glass
appears. Do you bleed without pain? Like
you lose a book in flowing tears?

I am glad death doesn't
come, even after the rain of missiles.
The screams are still coming from the graves.

Neutral in silent sounds
of war, to become immortal,
the heart will miss the beats violently.

Your hubris has pulled
down the savage sky. Now the flames.
will come to sing my poems.

Too painful for me
to eat hey. The thirst ignites the
candle to burn at both ends.

Return to an old style.
I hold the breadth, crippled in
grip. No deterrence. I want your drink.

Let me become intro-
spective. I am god, creating moon’s
corona. Everyone looks schizophrenic.

Roses in summers were
sad. No color sticks. Only flowing
blood was red. Butterflies disappear.

I will weigh the-
massacre of daisies in cluster
assaults by shrewd mercenary hands.

Walking miles to search
the light, when nazism was taking
birth in silence. Who will call Buddha?

In the throes of power
and disaster- the twins will play with
transparent integrity to define truth.

Think for yourself like
a god, and question me without
losing your cool. A pain after a pain-

After a wound. I want to go
titanic. Wish me a rose. Why do you ask
disturbingly about the price of honesty?

Were you true to yourself
while feeding others? Talking with black
moon ?Will your truth survive without religion ?

Sometimes god dismembers
you. Your first love was what you
created. God tends to forget.

To love everyday was a
ritual. You burn an earthen lamp at
sanctum. Blue smoke was holy.

The dehumanization
was making the water red. I want
to dissect the truth to find an immortal.