In the evening a frog in the pool squeezes
That is him slowly tearing a paper of the letter
Which was long time waiting for a reader
About the tempers of the spring breeze
The toad of the moon fell into the night
Alike the moonlights smoothly dumping water
For pursuing a company to the lonely spirit
Warm and tender
The evening is dark and cold for sorrow
Allowing tears no longer waiting for a breath
Touching out the temper of the spring breeze
As Soft and quiet as a quiet lady of dews
Sylphlike moon,
weaves a curtain,
of lucent,
enamoured spells,
on nose rub,
fervent flames,
nocturnal courtship,
romantic ritual relish,
golden soul wooers,
of diverse ages,
spanning spectrum,
from incipient,
first flush sighs,
lavish cuddles,
spirited elation,
to middle years,
pearlescent passion,
whose impermeable love,
seal a robust fortress,
boldly withstanding,
fortune shifts,
wanton butterflies,
vicissitudes, life mutations,
a seamless transit to,
twilight romance halos,
of the stoic advanced,
otherworldly other halves,
whose focussed eye gleam,
eros never dampened,
as the silver moon peers,
behind coconut hue’d,
dream cloud afloat,
oe’r elder hearty squeezes,
still locked,
in hugs sensual
Hungry for everything, most of all for this sound.
How good it is that he is there and doesn't see me
A pageant of ambivalence squeezes my chest and finds solace in pain.
I am a girl. But to speak this way, I shall never learn.
While places vary across earth,
there is one where grief’s waste piles.
Atop gravestone where whispers flow,
it drips and drags where gravel bumps and scripture is engraved,
leading to fertile land
where one’s lost heart lays.
Where sheets and feather tangle,
screams and hair pulled and caught,
it is breathed in where fabric makes tracks,
and soaks the pained resting eyes of a lost heart.
In sterile and dreaded halls,
performance forgotten and all weight shifted,
and life’s direction now unknown due to ignorant laxity,
onlookers and a greater shift keep the lost heart internal and silent.
Our world spins but our sinews,
our tissues grow damper as we cry
whatever reason may be
whoever we call out for saviour,
we bathe ourselves as systole squeezes grief to the world.
The departure is all I know.
Its familiarity is embedded in the sadistic comedy of my consciousness.
Its affection is engraved in the intimate deception of my own searing flesh.
Its practice plays on a loop in the fond erraticism of my haste.
The malice kisses my tears as it spits salt into my sores.
The isolation tends to my methodical mourn of a mockery.
The reassurance of my ruin strokes my hair; a reminder of my rational wreckage.
The impulsive denial of my fate lingers in the darkness of my preordained doom.
The doom of my dread.
The doom of my denial.
The doom of my destiny.
The deliberate descent into the dusk holds me hostage.
The eerie malevolent vines of its malign wrap around my vindictive matter.
It squeezes until I drip with the decay of my own skin-swallowing dejection.
The white of its teeth gleam at me, gasping in my reluctant pleas of sojourn.
The rot fuses with the warmth of my blood and the salt of my sweat.
This is the end I yearned for.
This is the termination I yearned for.
This is the finale I yearned for.
Calculated.
Segregated.
Anticipated.
The doom of my departure.
The sun squeezes through
like it almost missed the train--
late and blushing.
It lands on the windows
and suddenly the glass
looks alive.
A crane freezes mid-air,
caught staring at the light.
Clouds hang around…
undecided.
A door slides open.
Someone steps out
into the cool morning air.
Shadows move down the walls
as the light grows stronger.
The city comes awake
bit by bit…
quiet,
unhurried.
everyone else wants to take my need away
they have no concept of how firm a grasp she has
I am in the clutches of a giant spider
she owns me flesh and soul
She squeezes me tightly
holding me close
allowing me no time for anything
or anyone
except her
when I try to escape, I end up disappointing them
and myself
but this selfish angry need has a fury
she is a storm, a tornado, a hurricane
she needs to keep me close
she is smothering me,
killing me
my addiction
She veils her face and laughs
never saying from where she came
The house murmurs and breathes
and she squeezes next to me.
at my desk
She won’t leave my space
until I let her speak
and we shoulder each other
watching words dance on page.
a quiet morning
I ask her if we’ve met and where
and she shrugs her shoulder.
She presses her finger on my lips
and disappears before I can say more.
shaped
(off-sonnet form)
I'm scary summer visit once a year
with fierce countenance I always appear
Dry up all sources by sucking water
Day by day shoot up hotter and hotter
My infant days warm, cosy, and cheerful
when days pass by, I turn into fearful
My aura haunts even after sunsets
And the suffocative weather upsets
Burst opening the charcoal doors of night
Emerge with the gleam of chandelier light
Like a vicious dragon, I diffuse fire
None dares to encounter my severe ire
My scorching and charring hot weather chokes,
Squeezes, suffocates and perspires the folks
End to end whipping waves sprawled and enclosed
Everywhere stringent curfew terms imposed
Panicked birds stop singing and hide in trees
Tired cattle stay in shades of trees and wheeze
People gulp to quench their enormous thirst
Scared veterans shut up indoors coerced
Light and simple cotton clothes people drape
Lemons and melons to beat and escape
offering a fun they gather at pools
Enjoying ice-creams children bunk their schools
Place : 1 st
Saying nothing I have said,
That love has said it all.
A crushing hand, that
Squeezes on my heart.
I remember nothing else
An ember nor a spark.
Saying nothing I have said,
That love has said it all.
The winter blues has a grip on me all so tight
Its icy tentacles wrap around me and squeezes
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
staving off the cold is a battle, an endless fight
it brings forth an assortment of nasty diseases
The winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight
these grey days cloud over the sun, the bright
as the icy chill roam wherever it does pleases
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
my blood flows like a frozen berg of ice
and into my bones the air seeps, then freezes
the winter blues has a grip on me all so tight
frozen raindrops form like dripping stalagmite
and the wind blows hard, never once does it eases
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
thunder roars. then the dark sky ignites
distant are the summer days of warm breezes
The winter blues has a grip on me all so tight
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
We walk hand in hand
Me and who I used to be
Sometimes I feel like I failed her
Sometimes I feel like i could do better
Like I dissappointed her
Tears stain my face
As she squeezes my hand
Reassuring me
That we are in this together.
There’s beauty in imagining great things;
It lights our dark future with hope-filled dreams ~
Visions of peasants ordained to be kings,
And plebeians crowned as queens, so it seems.
It charts dream paths lit by elegant beams.
Imagination hears each scarecrow's groans;
It squeezes water from dry desert stones.
It carves deep oceans in hot desert sand,
Lifting us from known realms to worlds unknown,
Where minds may wander due to no command.
Imagination lends us its safe wings,
So we can soar toward futures we choose,
To fill our life with hopes and precious things;
Though striking gold is never a mere cruise,
Nor are the lily-livered crowned as kings.
Sweat would streak our face and our skin would bruise,
Our legs may throb and swell with insects' stings;
It's for our future that we pay the dues —
We'll patch our hurts with plasters, cloth, and slings,
On great hopes, our imagination clings.
It’s real hopes that imagination brings,
With peace of mind when reason reigns supreme,
With thoughts that glide without the need for wings—
Yet sometimes birth false hopes no truth redeems.
And dreams may fade like echoes in a stream.
There’s beauty in imagining great things;
It lights our dark future with hope-filled dreams ~
Visions of peasants ordained to be kings,
And plebeians crowned as queens, so it seems.
It charts dream paths lit by elegant beams.
Imagination hears each scarecrow's groans;
It squeezes water from dry desert stones.
It digs deep oceans in hot desert sand,
Lifting us from known realms to worlds unknown,
Where minds may wander due to no command.
It’s real hopes that imagination brings,
With peace of mind when sane minds reign supreme,
With thoughts that glide without the need for wings—
Yet still give false hopes life may not redeem.
the winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight
Its icy tentacles wrap around me and squeezes
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
staving off the cold is a battle, an endless fight
it brings forth an assortment of nasty diseases
The winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight
these grey days cloud over the sun, having no light
as the icy chill roam wherever it does pleases
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
my blood flows like a frozen berg of ice
and into my bones the air seeps, then freezes
the winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight
frozen raindrops form like dripping stalagmite
and the wind blows hard, never letting up or eases
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
thunder roars. then the dark sky ignites
distant are the summer days of warm breezes
The winter blues has a grip on me, all so tight
freezing my fingers and toes with its nasty frostbite
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