The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast, Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone, Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, and lang’rous waist!
Two ends of a sphere, Me and my Heart. One lives with me, one lost to never found me again.
We have always been less human than human, In the glare of pathetic greed, we are leading, Like never before, or like every Single time. There isn’t any sign of togetherness, Good deeds, a better past, or our glory, If there is, it’s rare, so we share. Shamelessly.
Writing on leaves,the drops of fogsome sublime poetries,of life & lies,burning and dying,true love in the eyes. Read the full poem 'The Drops of fog' here.
These mountains, a solid architecture,a life with the green canvas, all over it,like a bold green flesh, raised by the sun,the summers, winters and spring passing,it stays still, never complaining, about anything. In summers, Sun melts him, like fire vomiting dragon,his little trees and plants die due to illness,lack of water causes death to beloved…
Writing on leaves, the drops of fogsome sublime poetries,of life & lies,burning and dying,true love in the eyes. Escaping from the arms of clouds,falling to the surface of grounds,it cools the heat all around. Scattered onto the soil,it asks for an another life.a life of time, for a lifetime,nothing it says, but denies.
Whimpers in the maze of tough thoughts,A life with lenity.A thought of seeking coincidence,With wondrous epiphany. A morning that seeks night,But couldn’t.A night that seeks dawn,But couldn’t. It stays within,And asks quietly,Whether you’re,what you areor not?? When not heard,It stays where it belongs,Like a snail in its shell.
The way she passed the bridge of my memory, I lost my way out of the senses. The lights of courage in me was diminished, Flaunted by the winds of first love.
Sitting besides the blue-ish river of Atlanta,
Staring, the filled sky with grains,
Glittering in the nights.
He beseeches for a masterpiece.
Stays somewhere, little ashes of thoughts, dawning in the middle of some stray stars, alone but surrounded, by meaningless bushes of burdens.