The Shadow Who Cannot Exit

I kiss the blue sky
of the April morning.
Let the moon be jealous
and the seas roar with
loud and aching thunder.

I brush my hands on
the ground of the earth.
The summer scents of
human skins are there
in the crowded picnic.

I move from left to
right and creep on the
brocaded sand where the
colored stones are mute
and deaf like walls.

I burn my tongue with
coals of gossips and the
ears of malicious monsters
are eager to eavesdrop from
my expensive conversation.

I feel the scratches of
the evening like a rough
cowardice of revenge,
dismissing the stars,
wondering why I am the
shadow who cannot exit.


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The other you,
the other me.

The only difference
that settles in
our unique self
is the way we
try to cope up
from our past.

The you and me,
the me and you.

We try so hard.
It makes us
the two who
cannot be broken.
We cannot.


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In The Wilderness

secrets bound
the leather seats
of the devils.

is manufactured.

Things do not
always go right.
The blunder of

darkness is

One heart might
not agree to

and I
am an actor
of the light
and the dark.

I move freely
without being


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Almost Extraordinary

The cobwebs are
on my walls.
They are quiet,
grey and still.

My room is
square and
hot this summer.

I think of
many things.

Outside, I
look for the
almost extraordinary
and I found you.


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Sleep is

dreams are
stolen from
comic books.

I mimic
the television
and avoid
the monsters.

The ice cream
in my cup
is melting like
a shattered


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Absolutely Yourself

Sorry but you are
absolutely yourself.

You can pretend,
you can defend
but still you are
absolutely yourself.

The way you are,
the things you think,
you are different and
absolutely yourself.

There are still wrongs,
there are still songs,
when I look at you, you
are absolutely yourself.

You can remain,
you can contain,
the world may go mad,
I may be sad but you
are absolutely yourself.


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The Ballad Of The Bard

I slip from home
while you sleep.
The world outside
is charging his energies.

My body moves slowly
on the ground, staring
amicably at the dark
skies full of stars.

Who marvels at the
beauty that exists
too tangible to our
hands, too mystical
to our understanding?

There are countless
things that we ignore

There are priceless,
precious things that
we cannot restore
when they’re gone.

Who executes a command
so perfectly that
people cannot even

I return from the
outside and inside
the home, I utter
quiet whispers of

contemplating that I
live this life better
than others and I should
not take it for granted.


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