The sunlight wakes me in the morning The atmosphere around us paints it blue The birds are singing in the morning The nature made them fly for you The mind is gentle without warning The days and nights that I’ve been through The summer ends while I’m still yawning The northern winds will be here soon To some the world is still dawning To me the earth sings a dying tune I live a simple life in watching I live because survival is a colour that returns us to something new.
I am a poet through and through and anyone that tells you different you must deny it and slap them across the face very roughly indeed. I love the normal things in life and turning them into mysterious meaningful emotionally attached fascinating object or subjects.
In the empty house of snow, though, interred a blade of grass when I was searching one midnight flame in frozen night, on parting lips of darkness. The art of delusion churns the sea for an untitled arsenic, of a
Ceramic memories and terracotta pain; the injured crypt ultimately got opened. At urn burial, the name was absent. A pristine ritual for a nameless martyr. The sword within him was not used and pubescent bomb went unexploded. You leave a
I met her few days ago In a beautiful garden May be a new friend though face was unknowable, but as if we were known to each other from time immemorial Innocent face, solemn lines on the forehead, eyes looked like
The skies smiled above, The moon peeped through the cracks, Clouds black than usual, A new life arrival waited, A pain so enormous, She bore it courageously, This life had to survive, This life wasn’t hers anymore, But every ones’