Zenith

I am trans-
ported

speedily up
beyond

from where
you

are be-
low.

My lungs
are

transgressing
the

fact of
reality.

Is this de-
lusion?

I am far,
too far

away from
Earth

where I
have been.

2015

Posted in Poetry | 12 Comments

When Moons Are Gone

Sun is pressed
on a crimson
horizon of
the twilight.

Rain traps
theĀ drought
of summer in
this every day.

Eyes don’t see
the failure
of time when
moons are gone.

Dragons spew fire
and I am on the
hot seat of
vulgar questions.

2015

Posted in Poetry | 8 Comments

The Siren

The hour sounds
like a tick in
the ocean.

Her ligaments
hide underneath
the surface.

She resonates
her own
songs and

impresses
a prince of
the unknown.

2015

Posted in Poetry | 2 Comments

Immaculate

Although I am broken,
although the world cannot
offer me a perfect life,
only YOU whom I find peace.

The volcanoes can erupt.
The gravity can pull.
The trees can bear fruit.
The human faces can smile.

I see miracles every day.
I sleep with many dreams.
I hear voices deep within.
I am not alone in the universe.

Although I can get hurt,
although I can be loved,
I can choose the better way,
I can surrender to the good.

Your presence is Forever.
Your image is Beautiful.
Your life is Happy.
Your home is Immaculate.

2015

Posted in Poetry | 5 Comments

The Spiral Mind

Loud,
becoming
louder, then

still.
The noise
utterly stops.

When
something better
happens,

it
happens so
fast.

Untimely,
something happens
untimely.

The
audacity, this
odyssey.

When
something happens
one at a time.

They
spin continuously
on one point.

This
head is in
rhapsody.

2015

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

Scent Of An Absence

Suspended
time and the
aroma of your absence

is
drawing me
near the madness.

I
cannot survive a
day without you.

The
longing becomes a
torture too unbearable.

I
trust that I can
be alright.

I
tried.

2015

Posted in Poetry | 6 Comments

Talisman

Mantra in the morning,
I pretend to sing.
Numb, the funny frozen
secrets of those lyrics
are stabbing my I do’s.

Flat wheels on the road
are sold by merchants of
the bankrupt markets.
They fail to facilitate
a bittersweet, graveyard shift.

I come back and trade
the holidays left on my
Gregorian calendar.
Somebody has stolen fifteen-
day annual sick leave.

2015

Posted in Poetry | 6 Comments