Like the wind
your surreal memories
wakes me up,

Like the wind
your soothing touch
rakes me up,

Like the wind
your dewy fragrance
freshens me up,

Like the wind
your debonair presence
fills me up,

Like the wind,
your mysterious disappearance
blazes me up.

-

These black and white
Painted bodies
is not surreal for me.
i seek for colourful Soul
Their veins in kindness
And arteries in love!

-

in your voice,
there's the sun
melting into the
b e y o n d !
tiny
fl
ak
es
of light
holding universes
that'd glitter
against your
navy blue
heart;
and every comely sight
coalesced
into the sound
of my name.
the proverbial moth,
s t a r k,
enflamed!

-

From my navel
Grows this spindly
Tree of hope;
You'd buried me
Deep in the ground
Not knowing
That I was but a seed
Of faiths combined;
That even hatred
Watered to dead dreams
Bore fruits:
Scarlet, spiny, lethal.
Look what you've done
You cough out blood
And the mushy pulp of
Your own deceit,
And my bark bleeds
Happy tears:
A v e n g e d.

-

some,
of the afterbirth
of pregnant moon
that
borrows colours
from your eyes
before the day is born.

[Excerpt]

-

In the journey within,
I painted my surreal art
with words.

-

says
the earthworm
to the bumblebee:
I was born fat
On a once rich soil,
Gritty like
Freshly scalded tongue
Against the palate,
When sometimes you
Suckled sunburnt
Remnants off
Nectarines.

My skin is tattered
In places now.
I slither into
Darkness
When creatures
With no roots
Plough our homes
Into oblivion.
Now, your trees are dead.
And my earth is stone.

I dig deeper, these days,
In search of home.

-

whereupon

your eyes land,
My love, I'll plant wildflowers,
Purple, orange, white, and
The colour of blood
In your arterial wirings,

you,
my mortal sins crave.
They:
Radiate from the underbelly
Of phrases untold
Until pulsations shake
The very foundations
Of
everness;

And I taste its
Echo in your
Beating heart.

-

Some daybreaks
Are like forks
Of a deranged space mogul:
S c r a p i n g
Charred bottoms
Of burnt cosmic soup.
My sky is a cauldron,
Clouds frothing up rims
Like searing butter!
Where time cooks,
Like the sun:
Tender, molten
Till it finally
Blackens the abyss
Dusk by dusk.

-

can you stay
knowing it won't happen?
well, i did.
it felt surreal.

-