PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Capricious, you go
with the sun between edge and
curves. Your face becomes weightless.

Underneath the wall
I pretend to have my body buried,
when I was punished for telling the truth.

An ode to unseen
history that speaks in piece meals
of the slaughter of all moons.

The stone has no
gender. Only meltdown will wash
its body. Who was insidious of you?

Between the patriarch and
catnip, lynx eyes win and the lens
become volatile to explode Himalayas.

What you love has
the sparks. It is awful to sign
black berries on your heart.

My pearls come back
with tears. You seem poised to play
with stings. Moon annexes with Venus

Small things leak the
Sufferings. The besieged conscience
cannot decide to die or to live.

Are you going to burn
the river to save the renaissance,
to run the philosophy of living.

Vicious, we are going farther
from each other to sensationalize
the sting of a rare kiss.

An algorithm makes a
new pattern to live. When you
come I like walking moss.

The white ash gives
birth to who you are. There was
only one book which broke the centuries.

Standing on edge
names are slipping and unraveled.
History revolts. You don't speak.

The idea of slavery
prevails. You run after the thrown
coins. Metals glare from the eyes of dying.

The fall was expected.
Someone goes insane. By contrast
an old god becomes a child.

I tell the suffering,
you were too sincere. Without
ears I listen to the voice of void.

Scatter the tears on
rose petals. I learn the shock of
weather, when vision is lost.

What happens when
you walk in water to kiss the
bottom of the sea only your hands are visible.

The pain waits for ever.
Nothing to ask, nothing to give.
You make a house of glass to be transparent.

The sculptor sexualizes
the stones by carving a beauty of
ancient human walking undressed on land.

A truth be unwrapped?
The stigma will not allow the flies
to sit. The fruits will never come.

A running poem was
condemned to die. I will not change
the route. You know the art of breathing last.

Uneasy, you never returned
for confession. The fear eats away
like a virus. You belonged to me.

No strings. We are tied
by sacred words, like swans. We
are intertwined by necks to stay alive.

Amphibious. My pain
wants to go into exile. My home
was becoming a museum.

A devil lives in every
one, brandishing a knife. The
rose flowers are hurled on the dead

Unassuming you dig
in heels; Why does the moon stare
at you, when you shut your eyes.