Random poetries

A poetry is resting on your curves,
with its lines measuring your plateaus and creeks.

A haiku is finding solace in your navel,
with a middle word of second line hanging out like piercing.

Just want to ask,
if you still offer your skin as canvas,
for my lips aren’t finding space to write a prose

Half told stories

Some half told stories,
tired of waiting for an end,
embarrassed of being read,
are seeing through days for ink to fade.

Some half told stories,
afraid of suicide the climax could commit,
by reaching the last page before meeting an end,
are desperately hoping for different ends.

Some half told stories,
hoping the pen lying dead on their chest,
is lifted by a writer,
who can ferry them on his emotions to an end.

Some half told stories,
wandering through imaginations,
are curious to discover an end,
in anxious beats of desperate souls

You are alive if…

you can listen to heartbeats at some point during the day

you can catch the breath that is running out faster than it is going in

you like to see the sun set after hours of escaping it’s heat,

you are amazed to see the dew settle on leaves through winter nights,

you slow down at times to absorb the scene around when running late,

you ain’t a fan of perfection and enjoy the act even with misplaced cues

you measure the success with people who have matched their steps to be with you

Knife

Just when emotions thawed
a butter knife was pierced.

They cut me slowly
softly ripping through all the years
in a matter of seconds.

By the time the (knife’s) point reached
bottom of the heart
all attachments melted away.

They kept searching for the pieces,
while i was all over the place
unwilling to gather myself again.

Be with yourself

When a thing is slipping from your fingers while you await the arrival of another,

when roads lead to destination, but you don’t feel like travelling any further,

when the dilemma of rushing or letting it go begins to churn your peace,

when your maturity is making your silence pay higher fees,

when you have run out of options and don’t have a plan in place,

when you have run out of gasoline and you want to set everything ablaze.

Who am i?

who am i…?

a bunch of bones stitched by flesh
or
an orderly life managed by mess

a high pitch nasal throw of an anxious throat
or
a hopeful rover carried by a lost boat

a happiness failed by gratitude
or
a failure bailed by attitude

a body stuck in routines
or
a soul immersed in past

a villain cursed in someone’s story
or
a good screenplay gone awry

a person stamped with expiry date
or
an immature who arrived late…