One day the sky will be lit
not by the sun or moon
but by the fire in me.

Phenomenal woman that's she

Those nights when only ticking is heard
and every flesh is dormant in concrete 
there's a strange woman who appears
and places herself just besides me.
She glides her soft fingers over my neck
and gently whispers her melody
her voice enters my blood and face
her language my tongue speaks.
In that deep, feminine, seductive voice
the words erupt from my mouth
the words of agony, jocund shouts
the words of midnight bell too loud.
Every night, her footsteps are heard
I welcome the woman with open arms
and she brings a new poetry each time
which she makes me read aloud!
Then she smoothly ships me to dark
As the blue jazz plays in the background
And this I hear just before I go
"You're the angel of the town!"

You

If there is thought or emptiness,
a feeling or confusion,
a fact or principle,
there is You.
If I could free my fancy
I'd disturb you
I'd laugh with you
I'd never hold back
just because
there is You.
If I leave
you will be there again
somewhere in togetherness
or in the hidings.
I'll see you
in my labyrinth.

even if I dance you will not know
wish silence could explain
me.
And then again the tears...they fall
those songs...I can feel you in them
guess you were the only...

Blue

A symphony on the horizon
The notes in the breeze
Some stuck in the rose petals
Others flew to me
Clouds walked 
Dew drops settled
On my pale blue skin
Moist and cold

A walk to remember

On my way to the water cooler, I often watch myself walk to the water cooler. I see that grim face, like it has always been since childhood, trying to de-tangle some hazy stubborn knot in the mesh of thoughts; that loneliness whom I call to walk besides me so that I don't look stupid; that shyness hidden in resoluteness of countenance, showing the wise my hypocrisy and the dumb my attitude; that pain inside which keeps pumping through my veins, blocking my capillaries, reddening my fingertips; those slow-fast steps like electrocardiograph of a lier set up on lie detector and that play of whispers and screams inaudible to the human ear. I see them all present an extravagantly exhilarating performance deserving everybody's attention. But sadly, no one but me can see it. No one but me can feel it. No one but me knows how to appreciate it. But there are some who come rushing to me and enter my secret library to register themselves where they get a permanent residence. I see the welcoming warmth in my eyes when they shut down for few seconds. And as I approach closer to the water cooler, the effect seems to magnify in reverse order. Then there is the flow of the water down my throat, the push of my shoulder against wall, the long sigh of quenched thirst, the cold numb eyes and those million tiny electrical pulses in my brain fusing off to darkness. That's when I love myself the most.

Beast of burden

I'm living under a burden cast upon me ruthlessly by my religion, that religion which claims itself to be the most ancient of all, the source of everything from the tiny dust speck to the gigantic stars and planets, everything earthly and cosmic.
Then there's another hero which is much more malevolent and vicious than the previous dude, and that's - the society boiling with the heat of evil thoughts, capable of destroying the dearest and most personal possession, a man's integrity.
My own ideals are no less a devil, for torturing every inch of me, electrocuting my brain bit by bit, every night when I retire to bed, like a skilled master working his way to perfection in the lonely hours with just a single tool - heat, high enough for brain damage.
And I walk with these three ghosts on my shoulders, guffawing at each faltering step I take. But it's a choice I make to carry them everyday without any purpose. I am a beast of burden but why do I not pity the poor donkey on the rocks or the camel on the sand?