Existence ...

I’ve seen me build up

Crumbles and dust

From the ashes of her being

And graves of our memoirs

I’ve been rebuilt and restructured

With soil for flesh

And a stone for a heart

Agony as blood and a head of stars

I’ve got a sense of pain

With a loss of joy

A world too seen to be fathomed

And an existence too meek to give up on.

Blown thistles ...

I woke up one day

To see your lips silently and calmly

Kissing the very sunrays

That caressed us

Out of the dreamy world

We survived in

Your lips glistened as it slowly and softly exhaled

All dreariness and lifelessness

Like a silhouette of some shadow

Dancing frenzy in the morning dew

Quivering lips upon the touch of stale fresh city breeze

White curtains that clothed most of you that remained human

And everything else present in that room

Seemed like blown thistles.

Live it all ...

I will swallow your fragrance
And breathe out ashes
Swordfight the lurking shadows
And stab through the citadels of souls
I will dig out graves of wooden crucifixes
And pour down jars of ecstasy
Devour the mist and dirt that build bodies
And float away like wanderlust spirits
I will walk on lands not yet made
And dance to tantric drumbeats
I will live it all.

Small things ...

I live off small things
Microscopic entities that roll over unnoticed
A faint tune to somewhere something
Some words accidentally heard somewhere
Or some soul of a person enjoying on a street
The wag of a tail or calls of birds
A photo of a person long forgotten
Or an old T-shirt randomly pulled out
Torn jeans that still fit
A few alphabets scribbled on a paper almost thrown away
A careless run of pens on walls from hazed out childhood
Smiles of known strangers
Greetings of old people
An untangled headphone
Or just reflections in the mirror
Small things.

Universe ...

She has made her universe in me
Between frictionless sheets
Sliding against us
And trembling hands too weak
The sighs of silence
And shameless lips
Brick by brick
She crept under my skin
And before I knew it
She made fortresses out of dreams
I did not dare to dream
And that one fine day
When the world seemed to have stopped
Stripped off of the masks and fabric
We did not make love
We just lay there
And slept off cocooned
Nothing ever felt so much like home.

Thunder ...

There is thunder in loving you
A whole new galaxy
Of elated nerves
A total absence of anything moral
Or mortal
Lack of shame and innocence
A ravishing era of ignited wounds
Flesh of screaming gasps
Some permanent entity
Burning with a fire so pure
It is cleansed
It is spotless
It is forever.

End ...

Joy be to the person
Blissful enough
to have your scent
lingering on their skin,
Through churned soils
of your blooms,
fortunate lips
to have ever met yours,
glazing towards burning suns,
ears which hold
your words in,
tangled webs of your hair
weaving days into nights,
and darkness adorned
by your whispers,
soft caresses of your fingertips,
cheeks on cheeks,
skin on skin,
the blessed soul
that has your heart to keep,
grateful kisses on faded bodies,
monochrome of your eyes,
and the taste
from where you begin,
be that his eternal peace,
be that his glorious end.