Did we climb the mountain?
Or was it only me?
but we did talk on the peak,
Or had both, kept quiet?
Maybe, both
Maybe, neither

I had talked through silence
And still said it all.
You had spoken back.
Those empty words
Them, I never heard

The silence that ensued
Echoed back and forth
Back and forth
Between those damned peaks
Those damned peaks
That you had fixed
Your distant eyes on
Did we climb that mountain
Or was it only me?

-

I drank from
The ponds of her
Crescent eyes
Now I swoon
Blind in the
Forest of love

-

Love is misery,
Chaos and pain.
A longing,
Never ending.
Love is hopeless,
Hoping.
It is
Beating yourself up,
With a grin.
Love is like
Filling up wounds
With salt
Especially those
That hurt the most.
It’s a madman
Running naked
Through civil corridors
Love is a wildfire
Eating up
All in it’s wake
And yet all I want
Is the ruin it is,
My love

-

Sunday's, every few hours
I need to light
A cigarette
The greatest invention
We offered ourselves
Flick the lighter
To pull out, a
Wavering fire tongue
Too small
Yet packing
All it has
And light the tip
Letting it smoulder
As I draw and add
Red orange life
Just for few minutes
To the dead tobacco
It packs
Inhale keep exhale
Inhale keep exhale
Tick .... Tock
Tick .... Tock
And so on
The smoke is a part of me
And then it's gone
I draw more and more
As more and more,
Floats away
At the end
Left with a stub
And ashes everywhere

-

I consumed
All the love
you would not
feed my soul,
And bloated

Before you could
Drown me
To the ocean bed
Of your heart,
I had floated

Now, during days
I circle forests
Of labyrinthine memories
Hoping to be lost
Forever
while nights
I dream
Of a dream
That now
You have become

-

Today is not the day
When my woes
Will wash off
In a dash of poesy
Not today
I will laugh away
The looming adversity
Today is not the day
When I will write
What I want to say,
No not today
I will come undone
At the whims
Of ideas and fantasy

Today I simmer
a little more,
Today I sink
A little bit more
Today I retire
To my recluse
Today I will be
Where I lay
Today I will stay
Plain and ordinary

-

Do you think I love you?

How could you,
You hardly know me
But I think I love you
Or maybe the idea of you
Maybe you love my idea too?

Okay, maybe I do
But so what?
What about it?
Ideas are just fluff
Aren't they?

Oh yes they are
Fluff we could write poems about

-

Have you ever witnessed,
A rot that does not fester,
But like dry flake, clings
From the ceiling,
of your being.
Lying down motionless
Looking at it,
Not knowing anymore if, you
Want it to fall off, or not
For you have tried
To mask it with posters,
You bought cheap
On your own cheap advice.
The rot eats at them
Showing it's familiar face
Time, and time again
And then you just let it hang,
Like that ancient calendar
You never replaced,
Left it to adorn
The walls of your space,
As the rot looked back
Down the ceiling
Of your being

-

I always go to a sense of calm while seeing dilapidated structures and decrepit rusty factories. It's the same kind of calm while I observe old people, going about their daily lives, slumped in their chairs as the existence around them breathes in, then out back at them. Their exteriors in shambles, withering yet their is an innocent beauty of young souls that they possess. Lost while I walk through them I find myself or my semblance beneath their shadows - a walking breathing dying crumbling facade that I am of all things I endure live and cherish. Maybe when I will have had my share of enduring living and cherishing I too would bare my soul through my crumbling charade as all the existence around me would breathe in and then out, back at me

-

Thinking endlessly of
inconsequential trivial scenarios
I wonder by her banks,
is she the water or the flow?
Her contours embrace
my dirty city in a loving arch.
that has started to move away but.
I would not blame her
Sometimes, she is comforting to talk,
and even not to, while she,keeps singing,
Even when there is no one to sing to.
On these days, she is the flow
On days others she seems indifferent
As if she never listened when I spoke,
as if she never sang when I didn’t listen.
On these days like her, I choke
and wish I could drown in her.
On these days she is just water
Today when she is still
Or is seeming so,
I want to know
is she water or the flow

-