As the name suggests, this genre comprises of poems that are short in length and use literary techniques such as meter, metaphor and rhyme. Short poems present the extravagant experiences, the long extensive thoughts in a shorter version. A piece of writing using beautiful or unusual language arranged in fixed lines that have a beat and often rhyme.
Between the tremors falls the face in a glass of water. Sometimes false teeth reverberate through the pages of history; devastation sinks in. A faun rubs the landscape. Hatchlings come out when death-music stops. A miracle tends to quieten the
(1) It was a mix of demons. Honour killing to save the damaged inside. You were found in lotus position, hands tied, buried in a hole. (2) The twin plants: god and goddess of procreativity were shedding trumpet-shaped pink flowers.
The name calls the name spraying the moon with red colour. It touches a nerve, when there is standoff on the lake. A blueish eye invades an iron space between near solids of docks. The gap was widening and the
With frugal memory you wanted to tame the radical spine, while fright was bending the thighs. Was it a travesty of the graduated thumb? The speed of the river had accelerated in aching land. People gathered to collect the alms
A quivering mud lamp under the basil was sending signals for benign inconsistencies and a covert interceptor to stop a death to himself. It was a no moon day to monopolize the open eyes and closed lips. Piercing screams were
When logic and intuition stood on edge of time, sugar was dancing on the salt lake. I would not see the torn book between retreat and assault. I was reining in the new moon. In a night raid, five peacocks
Living against the food amnesia gold bricks call for austerity in passage of the hunger. Canons hanging in their necks it was the silence of death. Whispers were floating in night. The bodies will free us from gold cure, tasting
Death sits in wait in the empty valley of your sleeper cell. The confession of a guilt liberates the funeral of a martyr. Give me your breasts for a modular test. Don’t let the milk go waste. Your pearly teeth
Handprint of innerself was writ large in your eyes. I hear you in your becoming. Are you me and me are you in sameness? The words and silence? I hope you are listening to the waves, from inside, from outside.
Undating the memories in final push to cauldron, I said: let the words burn to ashes, in terminal journey, of eternal flight. You turn a blind eye to sun’s venom. Moon, the blue baby in a casket rubbing the white
Yes, your name was sliced off from the impasse. I will stand with you to track the continental drift. How little I knew about you and the prosthetic words. Again and again I return to ruins, and the dust and
There was thunder in the hut teeth clattered under the ground. Handcuffed you walk in inequality to qualify for hanging till dead. I may not tell myself what was happening to me. Moving in opposite direction the bird was able
Trapped in staircase, huddled in dark, you cannot go up. you cannot go down. The succession wars have started again. Bending the laws, molesting, disowning. The predator will get away eating the gold, the paradise. You are left with the
Keep the paper blank, do not write anything new. Words were abducted earlier also Let the truth speak from the folds of dying clocks. Fauns were searching the human abodes for fake currency of truth. There was no method in
After rolling the story of wrong sex by teeth the sheen comes off the subway and a hanging moon starts rotating a lonely earth. I was afraid of rumors, they were snowballing. The particles were dismayed at medieval thinking so
Vexed at a long sit in, after collision we will meet at a canal in the watery grave. You believed in philosophy of giving I would apologize for the slaughter of babies. Pink dolls I wished to know why they
Will you tell me what it was the unknown of the known? When you step into the eyes of stangers you start talking without uttering a single word. Give me back the body, of dark pink matter to understand the
The danger lurks in corner. After double helix, Now cobalt pencil writes the history of mankind. Dirty bomb gives determinate meaning of peace. I turn back to be eaten alive. Like a blade of grass you bend for the cuckoo.
Like a stingray it stung me tonight the new moon. A live flame lobbing the sparks. The seduction had bypassed the sleezy love of white egrets. When are you going to make a history by failing to fall? Can I
Spurred the kerosene to burn the logistics. I had moved on untrodden snow of tanned gifts. There was no tomorrow for me, living from moment to moment. The warships had moved into positions. Adoring the monotheisn, I still loved many
Wearing a skin where flesh had melted in blankness. The moon was sitting on window parting the curtains The sunset accepts the death as final verdict Small scholars will find out the pain of molesting. Estrogen untamed on street rises
It was inheritance of age before the mirrors for the language of windows. The high rise buildings always cast a pall of gloom.earth seems to slide and I cannot reach the sky. I want to say what I did not
You toppled the invisible burning the unburied buttons joining the history of names. Will I be able to communicate with straw to find out the age of the unarrived seeds? There is too much violence in green blood. The broken
Among the crania, clouds allowed a variation of sky. The hominids stood up and started a stride, with long steps towards noxious future. The cobalt was emitting radiation turning you black, melting your bones, suppressing the marrow. On the thigh
The hurt begins to move and meets in a funeral procession. For aging fireworks this was the last chance, but lake had dried up. There was no fall tonight of the moon All the stars had gone for a memorial
Soaked trees from the rain and fallen leaves, that cover paths lined with glowing pumpkins Houses with dimly lit porch lights and Halloween decorations welcome youngsters of all ages Children running amok dressed as their favorite character and yelling ‘Trick
Remembering the days of old, when father raked the leaves of Golden, yellow, brown and orange Jumping into the huge crisp pile, I tossed them all about As my father raked them on top of me I would creep out
A hidden self portrait in a tar pit I do not want to explore further. Wind was making a big sound the tarp blowing off, I stand naked under the scortching sun. A classless pain rises fiercely I am careless