The Writings On The Wall.

I tried to make
a home out
of you,
with what
little was left
with me;
in me.

I tried to make
you inhabitable
by painting my
words on your
walls;in your
favourite colours.

I tried to protect
you from snowstorms
and cyclones with
such success,
that I felt invincible
with you;
in you.

And one day,
I came home,
I came to you,
and found
the heart has been
ambushed,
with the writings
on the wall.

I should have
known better,
than to try and
make anything
out of you;
let alone my home.

Bermuda Triangle.

I willingly

ventured into

an expanse

of a dangerous

territory

marked by

your presence.

And I knew

beforehand,

that skies

are going to

be turbulent,

but I couldn’t

reason with

myself

and then

all I wanted,

was to

disappear

in your

arms;

little did

I know that

I was going

to crash into

a million

little pieces.

Astral.

Burning like

nebulae,

in your

arms,

bright,

blinding

in the night

of ours.

Labial touches,

that permeate,

bewilder,

and

I live to

tell about

astral travel.

I don’t want

to breathe,

instead

dissolve in

you,

consequent

would

be an explosion

of supernova.

 

 

 

Clipped Wings.

She walked

the surface of

earth,

with her

clipped wings.

Flying was

now a distant

dream.

For what

she thought

were lovely clouds,

in the sky;

were raging

storms.

Some battles

she won,

and some

she could

have won,

only if she

knew that

sky also

had treacherous

attributes.

And now

she walks

the ground,

with tattered

wings which

no one can

mend.

 

Puny Heart.

As I put

the pencil lead

on to the

unscathed sheet

of paper,

the graphite

etched your name

without any

voluntary intention.

It took me

more than

a few seconds

to grasp the

sorcery of

the inanimate

pencil of mine.

But I gave in,

and decorated

the markings

on the paper

with a small

puny heart

alongside.

After all,it

was symbolic,

and what

else could I

have done.

Summon The Cardinals.

Summon the cardinals

the devils have arrived,

they reek of burnt aspirations,

plot seems schematically contrived.

 

They have hit us,rock bottom;

nowhere to run,hide,

we are at their mercy,

of all saviours deprived.

 

Oceans are turning red,

no blood remains to revive

summon the cardinals,

the devils have arrived.