Why does lovers have to bleed in ink to death only to stay alive in curative words on those untouched yellow pages

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Not your love
Not the beloved you yearned
Not the dream you saw last night
I'm just tangled at your doorstep
Draped in your love
I'm a sage
And a vagabond
All I am
I am yours

No love to make
No skin to awake
If your name is not moaned through these lips
And Death is far at peace

You're my sanity
And my insanity
And the reason to come home
I've loved you
And I've lusted you
And I've worshipped you like a fool

I have looked for you in me and around
And I have had you in me and around

I'm a sage
And a vagabond
And All I am
I am yours

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If I write someday again
I'll write of Autumn
How easy it made me shed the burnt pieces and let me feel the raw wind on my bare skin
How easy was it to be naked of all hypocrisy and succumb to what the heart truly desires
How easy it was to think when the kind is not enveloped by fear
The dryness of my soul was easy to be shaken off
It was my virtue which took a little longer to confront it's chores
But it did eventually

Just the dreams have to be brighter sooner

Someday

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Yearning to be a part of your camper,
Working way through to chisel away the shortcomings and be worthy of you...


Tell me more , what shall I do?

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And the way he lowered his head to the question
I thought that my drink was spiked with mischief
And the gaze in his eyes so dark
That even the moon blushed

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Fly back home
O' naive little bird
Flying across the river with wings tired and tattered
Breaking the skies
Breaking the bonds
You wanderer of nights
Come feed on my flesh
Come feed on my soul
Just save my eyes for I want to see whose image I want to behold

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Dreams that take me to tomorrow
after a day full trade of money and mind...
And bones tired of melancholy kind.
I dream to dream again of what I dreamt yesternight
The dreams are mine to keep
away from all the fright ..

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My courtyard is left silent and mundane and deserted.

Beloved,
what pride of yours causes you to do this?
You have shed and let flow water from your own eyes making your very own river
And bathed in it a hundred thousand times.
Hurting your own way and
And you hold a grudge unspoken of
And determined not to reveal yourself ..

And here myself
Dry hair, an unkempt facade
Heart lifeless
Hear things in my mind in your voice
Unuttered though
Eagerly waiting for your footfall on my arcade

Tell me, why should I dress up if not for you ?

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Say, it is a stormy outside..
The rain mercilessly knocking at your window pane and the wind whining about some untold mysteries.
And you are there in your bed , tucked in thinking whether you should let your imaginations heal you up or to pay attention to the story the weather is constantly trying to narrate.
And when the lightning stuck , is that you feel when you collide with your beloved?
Or probably you prefer the intimacy in silence when you can hear your own breath.

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So flawed that even the rugged scars look better
So sinned that even the bloodstained hands are pious
So broken that even the shattered pieces of glass are whole
So quiet that even the night sky seems clamorous
So dark that even the black of the rain clouds look brighter
And stranded
And scared
And vanquished

But surviving

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