Relationships

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It is a dirty case of cleaned glasses
aged with the eyes which saw through
to see dust sitting on the window
where crows were cawing until the flesh loosens
and legs spread
we come down to heights
philosophy lost to the likes
surrendering to monotony of mutual rights.

the air comes between us and space
when we recreate ourselves
and our rusty past
it shakes the distance
we covered to last
we create from sun and feed it to moon
our dreams to our youth
once more lot of ground to cover
lot to ignore
glassened hardened fastened
our eyes to our shattered core.

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Mirror Meditates

Through the broken glass of a shaken house
paradigms shift to let in the light
when and how much
too hard to decide

reflecting in the angle it was set in
traversing the light
shining on things as they were thrown
Mirror Meditates
to change angles.

shadowed on
horizons of reflection
it’s a straight image
hiding the streets
vision fails to intrude.

I sit and call for purpose in pain
confidence in vain
and wisdom in shame
light strives to direct reflection
I get back
whatever I ask for
it doesn’t go sideways
there are few things I would rather not say
it’s my own mirror
it ignores my ways.

changes in surface
go on to imbibe
Convex
Concave
what kind of darkness it is
I have to decide
under spell of my own ways
expand out
look inside
I change my mirror
Cant change my sight.

Common Single Disease

I kill the cradle
and ancestors of the wild being in me
call me to end an era
of everything
with wilderness humanity will go
without desire the senses
with numbers the age
without sound your name
with death the pain
the dents of history will call for
another life to suffer
I will again rush to offer
another death in another life
another wisdom in another knife
another love in another life
wheel reinvents itself
and history is new
past kills itself
in between the time gasps
present perfect is continuous till
infinity dies again to be renewed.
———————————
You are my infinity
will you die early or slow?
rotting or in a blow?
will you kill me before slowing down?
or slow down to kill?
———————————
And then when your cradle kills me
my ancestors will call
the numerous me
and the numerous them
we will kill the misery of repeating history
mellow ourselves down
leaves will hustle
we will ignore the infinity in us
and will die in peace
cured in death of
a common single disease.

Body.

I always feel
I always go numb
on how these men
see my parts apart

the bulging breasts
the luscious thighs
the arse high

and then I bathe
unimportantly
alone
my body is not conscious
no eyes that roam

top to bottom
bottom to top
bosom to hips
vagina to lips
men know what they want
the body feels their hunger on

parts of it don’t feel home
eyes roam
dissect me part by part
I breathe in
breathe out
breathe in
breathe out
life bursts
and all goes down

bubbles of my body
and graves of men
death asks me to tell them apart
who to choose
who to spare
as if skeletons care.

FLOWERS & RINGS & LOVE

I know people
and they tell
they know me
this time it will be different
my grave will not be lonely
they will bring me
flowers and love
decide if I am rotten enough
kiss me or bid me luck.

I will know soon if
a new message I will have to inscribe
one more grave then
to kill and hide
there is blood on my lips
and dirt on the hands
again the silent trance
and hunger pangs
punch me
to vomit it all out
I have again eaten
my insides out.

Each time I dig a new grave
and fill new crowd
bodies on bodies
crying out loud
warned to lie still
sometimes they wriggle
trying to climb uphill
they hold my spine tight
and try to break me
to be their light
and I gasp for air
to loose this sight
their versions I keep
but I let them slide
every new man
pulls me down
questions ways of my heart
on me he frowns.

And You
I have seen you before
when gardens were lush green
you were like a purpose
that has dreams
while I try to see you differently
you come using the same means
you don’t know how you bring
the same scenes
of us
drinking the blood
being both hungry
and half filled
the continuously rekindling love
in unkindled will
I cannot help but still hear
in this closeness
the echo of dead screams
going in same vicious circles
of flowers and rings.

When It’s ❤️

I apologise for being different,
or all the more same,
he calls me something,
I have to respond,
when in love, that’s my name,

sirens chant the same,
Mersmerized,
play the game,
of being known,
honey, dear, a dame,

sweet pains,
a dove kills a dove, such games,
red always feels alive,
I think cocks fight the real fight,
I relate to their plight,

when sky is clouded,
mind lovely and talks with haste,
dying to be free,
again freedom lovingly put at stake,
those who have been tied know it well,
what it takes,
in matters of heart,
to save the dove,
and also to kill
to not turn into a dove at will,

still when he calls,
I turn to play the game,
become his honey, his dear, his dame,
he says I love you,
I say, Yes here is the cane!
If it’s love the history is same.

Deep cuts

How deep do you cut without bleeding
and I will call it art
your crimson feathers and stark lurking breath match
the width of blade
which you promised last time you
wont use

what is it you inflict on me for the pain to pass
a whiplash
or the same sweet dread
after red gives you away
and crimson scars turn you beautiful again

My blade
I protect you

and when you convince me of your cowardice
I know you pretend
to be brave
for these nutshells of mines
that you spread across
are just my pilgrims to your sacred heart
so I will reach your shrine to wake you up
and for that moment
that will be the first
and last thing I do for you
and turn to dust
that is all I can take
to make you brave
I can become a scar
the best one for your heart
and you can wear me
pretend like its art.

Let Me Write.

I have to compose something quickly
before hell breaks loose
and urgency of my heavens touch the incarcerated souls
to not burn them again
I have to write
the reminders in time
and adjust the velocity of feelings
each time to a faster pace
and further the gaze
so that the character adjusts the amount of futile references it can make
so as to not smother them and itself
I have to make space
and compose quickly but still not in haste
the metamorphosis renders my incapable past, I suggest myself to last
with the wisdom of gaze that I inculcate
I have to write
so as to not forget
these fillers of past
and metamorphosis of haste
I have to write
the moments of truth
willingness of heart
through my – this ignorant art
to see how my words taste
in your mouth like
the countless things you say
I have to write
allow me if I may.

Real-lies-sation

severe cold of the shutting lungs

scoff for the warm ice cream

mellowing the combustion of cold

shields stay up. lungs fight

of the momentary disguise

in which the cold plays

the warmth of haste 

and sends chills

of the developing taste 

sniffs are the signals

when I go around 

I think I am changing 

but I just change the crowd. 

The Drift.

and she looked at me
in the way I wanted it to be
but it was late
and, I, had places to be
could it fall so fast?
that, which was meant to last
could it be more clear?
my, this face, with your smear
you had said
that it was meant to be
and I said you knew my name
but, then, when you called
I didn’t respond
because it was late
we called it fate
but, what was all that
before all this
when we had time
to sit, define
then again
you had looked at me
in a way it wasn’t meant to be
and when it was not late
we still called it fate

whenever, the tides turned
they never favored
how we moved
and, we always looked backwards
to this drift
from the start
just why had you said
that it was meant to last.