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wounds narrate a melancholic rain fall...
words clinging to the last letters.
gulping the lust of freedom,
our veins scribble with blood
dreaming an eternal bliss.
darling, our wounds are still breathing agony.

in the forest

thousand trees watching the sunrise,
even the falling leaves departed
without a sigh.
sun rose to kill our dreams,
and the same left for them.

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while my hands are so open
absorbing the pleasures of those
who threw it unwanted.
dear ..life is so close.
rather than beauty,
we should sing songs of the roads ahead!

the farthest bird
brought the rarest seed
the strolling cloud
fell on coldest mud
a lantern sprouted
on a butterfly's chest

a pebble killed my daughter,
a doll fell on me ....
me and the saint don't
share the same room.
my dog cried for his buscuits
and his friends joined him for the same

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the silence bursts out from the barrel,
your laughter were always louder in solitude,
journey goes on with vengeance.
ants, marching from grave to grave,
kitchen to kitchen.
i sit on moon looking at my shadow on earth
wounds and wind still converse
sun is always lit with a suicide note
shadow gulps all the darkness
letters are fallen from a slit poem.

blanket

sun still touches my skin,
moon wraps me up,
her breath pierces my skin,
winter leaves me naked,
flowers touch my nostrils,
crows pick my dreams,
dogs sniff my heart..

Oh dear, give me a thicker blanket
and keep me inside your chest.