Inside a creepy corridor, a painter wanders
with a blank canvas and weird dreamers.
Latticed windows mystify missing space
across their passage, veiled panorama hails with grace.
Merged canvas harmonizes unblemished portal
and conscious sketch rocks on swinging cradle,
wanderer visualizes about unleashed mission
where unflagging dreams perceive embodied impression.
The courtyard of reflective imagination
extends the horizon of sketch’s foundation,
in course of time the... Read Full Story
The race We stand here in a line, must be fifty or sixty sunshine’s, and the air it flares with our life, and ground is hard and there is no green, and then the whistle blows slow, and the stampede begins. I think I’ll sit at the back, and find my way through slow, and then I will attack, a springy step at the pack pack. My breath is strong and my rhythm fine, I bound alone in good time, and climb the cattle bridge up, and jump down hard and bang my feet, and then I turn into the field pause... Read Full Story
that night under cotton-candy clouds,
chain-link shutters behind secure doors and windows
chased by their own feeling…
with rag around me covered in muddy prints
I get up to explore the images on the windowpanes
struggling to find vacant space…
a thin strip of dream involving freedom’s wings
and perhaps other shadows
trying to find the soil underneath… Read Full Story
Waltzing together with our embraced arms
in the courtyard of our own ecstatic realm,
we listen to the symphony of fervent love
which only reverberates our aroused yearning.
It reminds us only the timeless tales of enchanted couples
drenched in their midsummer night’s dream,
while we are immersed feverishly
in close-lipped exchange of our wild passion.
Both of us get soaked in the radiating moonbeam
in the night of amorous spring. Read Full Story
Sitting beside you I am crowned
with the tunes of roaring love.
Melody of unrevealed virginity reverberates
in the heart of turbulent ocean
of my passionate desire.
You said, ” I am not sure.”
While wearing the necklace
of adorned passion
with fragrance of first blush,
love strings both of us
on our awakened desire.
You said, “Please! Not now!”
When you unravel yourself
with flowing symphony of husky moanings,
love floats within you and me
making whines of ultimate... Read Full Story
I am unable to paint on the blank canvass
of my heart to illustrate my love for you.
Yet! Only for you, all my moments
are blossomed with your sweet fragrance.
From sprouting youthfulness
you bloom with all your ravishing beauty,
I express my disheveled passion for you
with my paintbrush dripped with your splendor.
Underneath your rosy feet
I accomplish long cherished colors of rainbow,
which will sculpt unfinished portrait of my love
on virgin canvass of my heart.
I LOVE... Read Full Story
I’m ninety eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I still have time to do.
I’ll grab life and I’ll dance,
for I will not have the chance
to do the rest
before I rest
I knew that in advance.
I’m eighty eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll do the things I never dared to do.
There’s still some room to grow,
so I won’t lie down below
scared to use,
afraid to lose
the things that soon will go.
I’m seventy eight years old, and I am dying.
I’ll be the me my elders... Read Full Story
too many cocktails and a twist,
an endearing impulsiveness
in flawless but stark lines,
dabbles in merciless black long side beige,
gray,
buff
and other muted tones;
jagged crossroads critical
with multiple retrospections
that craft midriffs;
a delicate inter... Read Full Story
The relations are bumpy in patches,
smooth in the rest but when there is bedlam,
the bumps become aware of their evil.
All around there is the enlargement of the jungle
rimmed by the nerves that stands like sentinels
against the low sky. When the relation
would start thriving, the disheveled bed
would get harmonious night…
then
everything gets dissolved in deep silence.
The heaven is seen at the end of the buckled road. Read Full Story
A long way to meander
to heed a shriek of a flying bird,
the wings then spread out in darkness
to open the door of the roofed cage
at the end of the last plunge
of the crestfallen ocean.
Believing the local shepherd then,
the wheat colour sunshine
will open the deserted open door and no one else... Read Full Story
