I am the poem of my life ,
I have set myself free .
Have taught to engulf
emotions , that bestow down upon streets.
Clothes painted with shuttered blood ,
yes, I can eye , I can touch to taste
or to capture moons and stars with my lips . Lips-
pink to brown or green to violet ?
What emotions do I defy ?
Variations nurtured !
Variations ? Or anecdotes?
Anecdotes of illusion that you find floating.
Floating freely in my blood , face and eyes .
You try to read them . Can you ?
You think am rambling .
You follow words that ‘I’ write .
You feel my scribblings are cliché ?
Do you feel so ?
Well he(body) is napping .
My mouth shut , eyes compact ,
legs laid on our bed .
His dream created these words , not me .
It is a gift from him to me .