Zei Poems

You’ve kept my heart’s dynamite aflame You know I can never be the same since your charming kiss did my heart tame. What words can describe your beauty’s fame? No smile can contend with yours’ my dame. It sends sorrow

Tonight when I come back clad in wounded memories, one seed deep the pod would lie in the forest of hands, I will wake you up in between the kisses of moon. The hawthorn lamps – let me light the

When he led, a nation followed When he raised a hand, a nation submitted When he walked, a nation moved When he spoke, a nation observed When he instructed, a nation obeyed When he protested, a nation agitated When he

Why today? Many ask Why not today? The reply should be For Good things For jovial things For gatherings For Picnics For Meeting a lover You want it today For all other which does not suit you you dont want

The wait continues, And it continues still,- Sick of the happenings, My mind echoes “Release” I’ve travelled much, halted more; Failures and eddies – O they were so much more. My mind is not my friend, It incites agony, as

Our conversations are like kisses to me. Your mouth opens and closes in tandem with mine as we share emotions and intimacies, translating incomprehensible feelings from the hearts of our hearts. I feel you more in your absence than I

The error of terrorism, they say, it is the power of belief. When the blood paints the earth, they say, it is the color of relief! The mask they wore, shows, how cowardly they are, The pain they caused, reminds,

Your absence greets me every morning. In the beginning, so noisy, even wild, Thrusting its claws into my plexus, Leaving deep furrows oozing your memory, Bleeding questions and perplexities- Oh, how I hated that spectrum Which darkened my glaring world!

Of all the songs I never wrote only the trash remains. Memories of a yellow room the morning after, A foggy winter Delhi high a disarray of rooftops and some garbled music; An orange coffee cup, A piece of sky

Love and malice are sides of a coin both feed equally to our mood. We praise the charm of our lover first for beauty then the qualities, in the name of understanding we weigh the obedience. Affections for young self

Well and there is a LOST SEA Somewhere running through The crystal caverns down and Around the foot hills of the Appalachian Mountains… I remember some kind of strange Indian folklore from many lifetimes Lived before, you look into my

Ever grown in adolescence, A convoluted leading presence, Thoughts loom large or small, Can this be it, can this be all? Eyes flicker like bulbs burning, Rarely it all fits or so I’m learning, Consumed with madness my kindness finds,

It did not stay in bed for long the ultimate. Clouds climbed down from immortality. The sick motherhood. We made love listening to winds draping our ashes. A father waited at the door. I am the sun I am the

felt faint inside from the heat of the day I fell down on my knees to pray thought of those memories from a time ago Christmas was spent under the mistletoe hugs & kisses with everything new Pretty pictures pretty

She made her soda by the handful, three handfuls of flour, a pinch of salt, a pinch of soda, a half pint of buttermilk, from an urn, not a carton. She made her soda by the handful, one hand that

I seen it in a movie once, the person made a list, All the the things he wants to do and all the things he missed, It really got me thinking what my list would be, I wondered what hope

The cold air seeped down with no heart, What was once a sea of beauty and life, Now had been turned to a grave of white and death, The city had almost all but stopped living too. Morning turned to

I stopped and wrote a poem today, Some simple things I had to say, I don’t know why I wrote them down, Perhaps to smile, instead of frown. I’d love to share my words of rhyme, Let others read from

“What am I to you? A broken piece of your beer’s glass, Shattered reminders of your past?” “No,” he replied. “You are my beautiful snowflake. Stop this now. I have a headache.” But I didn’t feel beautiful. I felt hurt

In emptiness staying aloof to set the wings free, a shadow self without flesh and bones to rip out the enormity of silence of words, cold in the face of duality metaphysical but of somber echo of tension between reconciliation

A plug dismantles a temper unveils a pink bullet-hole on the fore-head. A butterfly flutters and then sits on the lips, offers an apology for the smile. The water blooms in eyes cascading to chest for measuring the mounts. Who

Piecemeal summer dies long winter spreads it’s blanket again. For ten years I have lived in exile, locked in this rickety cabin, shoulders jostled up against open Alberta sky. If I were young again, I’d sing of coolness of high

When the night was full of terrors, As a child what you had encountered in your sleep with the demons or devils, Or the beautifully adorned prince or princesses, The superheroes and the fantasies and yet some more- “Dreams” ,

I am not sure if you enjoy stew or not. But it’s one of my favorite things. You take some of your favorite meat and bring it to a simmer, along with a couple vegetables and a couple seasonings. Chopped

It was the winter night of that year When tricky fate stormed my family When my beloved mom was left alienated With the abominable tragic demise of my dad And was burdened with six posthumous infants in her lap. The

I was happy communicating with them I was happy unknowingly indulging in their own game Happy on being appreciated Happy on being accoladed Felt each of them close to my heart Sharing things mutually though being miles apart In for

when I tried to reflect the solemn and unfathomable stars shadowy vistas of sylvan beauty curled his fastidious lip disarmed anger and softened asperity poured out on him the full opulence of a proud recognition as I was reflecting the

They throw bombs like I throw parties And it’s equally hit and miss Often a mess, never a success And still we throw and throw They have Molotov cocktails, While I serve the regular kind They’ll bomb your mind to

My body chills, This is my final croak. I thought I’d have thrills, But I fear his black cloak. His face, nothing but bone. His stance is but a leader. He had such a sweet tone. His breath was like

Sing me softly to deep sleep. With your song, my heart to keep. Your golden hair, like golden strings; That to my soul a sorrow brings. A sorrow deepest, deeper yet, That all my love I must regret. Your song

Dot maketh a man blind, beware of the outcome ’tis a drought, fandangle dingus maketh a relationship, acerbic as rum ’tis not an espousal, ’tis a fungus Humans , worshipers of everything Gods, demons or a fane find occurrences to

Paradoxical Shakedown Escape On Planet Earth The Monkeys That You Left Here Have Bled And Given Birth Inter-species Mating Has Fashioned Them With Wings And Now There Flying High Above This Haunted Gallery The Oceans Are Now Rising California’s Gone

In days when we have thousands of distractions It’s hard to maintain the interaction Between two people who are having fun, Who want to have relationship of number one. However in the age of modern era We have addiction of

Friends and good books, Worth keeping always, No matter how one looks. Books offer an insight, To one’s life. Friends pick you up, Give wings to your flight. Books light the intellect, Friends too make your life perfect. With books you are

Yes yes,  its me, the face with no feelings It helps me a lot when in public dealings I show I am happy,when inside I am crying When I am hurt and down, as if I am dying When I

I am a very long forgotten soul, I have nothing, of which I can take pride, I am dwindling with my every stride. I am having no path to stroll, Every time I try to try, I am thrown aside,

If your heart gets heavy you might need a break, waiting too long could be a fatal mistake, From the top of the mountain to the bottom of the lake, It’s hard to say when we will wake, Maybe never,

1 On the way to where We were going Tense tone Late spring Not a march on the desert 2 We talk about faults, Hours spent, Hand-stitched crystals Things on dry land, on secure land 3 Someone had an old

Never was it right? Or was it always that we needed to try, for own sake obviously. Was it, that we ever wanted discrimination on the complexion. Or was it that we always needed to try, at the behest of

There’s a kid somewhere in a town you’ve never heard of sitting in a prefabricated movie theater or maybe one old and rickety haunted by the adhesion of a million spilled and sticky substances lost within their own great thoughts