Scribbles in Sheets

​Scribbles in sheets-

Hues differ from another-

Faces of their kind

Vulnerably carved.

Scribbles in sheets-

Covered in dust, may be,

Rather dull of nostalgia

To no degree.

Scribbles in sheets-

Apart from flesh and blood-

Are what keeps us all

Human.

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Woman

A Woman is not episodal—
a thirty-minute watch,
She does not come in a flash,
She is a whole—
the sequel to bestseller
the author to author

A Woman is neither a day
nor a night,
that wakes and sleeps
along the sun and stars,
She is an endless tale—
one to behold a lifetime

She is the classic—
living in Beethoven’s music,
She is the fire—
the only one I see in your eye

And as long as She lives—
I’d never die.

Shadow of Angel

Oh, shadow of angel
Nothing but wind
Nothing but art
Strength under his wings
Endearing me
Immerse into heaven

Potion burns my veins
River of magenta
I didn’t know it was
Until it drowned my brain

A gaze
Consuming sanity
Mouth falls and rises
Muffling my distress
Penetrating tongue
Imprisoning my escape
Wings eventually
Metamorphose into claws
Lacerating senses

They say
Darkness rouses
From light’s absence
No
Darkness is your shadow
An engorged blind of sorrow

From beneath the silk
Oozing smoke of blood
They swim
The seed
(They do)
Unable to avoid
Mischief of your plant

Seconds fly too fast
Irreversible and true
I now bear what a curse
Another form of you

Would run
Only if can
Restless ache in between

Thought it was wind
Thought it was art

Should have run
While I still can.

Butterfly Kisses

 

The sound of rain tapping hard on the roof and the howling wind against the window pane sound like a classical music to her nerves that stimulate all her dying senses. She looked up at him as he drifted off silently. How peaceful you are, she thought, like a sweet child unknown of the harsh blanket clouting your little playground. His shallow breathing formed a light moist against her forehead; sweet and tender with a tinge of grapes. She closed her eyes as she reminisced about how she loved it; nights spent in a cold and dark room as the two of them seek fire from each other’s touch. As though their skins are of great combination to ignite flames through a delicious friction only them could make. She gently skimmed his bare chest with her candle-like fingers, savored every inch of his flesh, every chest hair that seemed like unstrummed guitar strings. She left butterfly kisses on and felt the warmth of his soft lips. Continue reading “Butterfly Kisses”