The splendid thingabout falling apartsilently…is thatyou can start overas many timesas you like.
even in the loneliest momentsi have been therefor myself.
Wordsare powerfulforces of nature.they are destruction.they are nourishment. they are flesh. they are water.they are flowers and bone.they burn. they cleansethey erase. they etch. they can eitherleave youfeelinghomelessor brimmingwith home.
some winterswill never meltsome summerswill never freezeand some things will only… live in poems.
…so i will greet youin a wayall loved thingsare meant to be greetedwith a tear in my heartand a poem in my eye.
i have laughedmore than daffodilsand cried more than June.
your handtouching mine.this is howgalaxiescollide.
To fall in love with someone’s thoughts – the most intimate, splendid romance.
lean in to kiss mein all the placeswhere the acheis the most special.
stronger than mountains.a place where my heart feels the safest- underneath his shirt.
i immersemyselfin youlikei immerse myselfinto a beautiful story.
With callused handsi tastedthe softness of the moonin the coldest windsi discoveredmy soul’s warmest fireplacein the roughnessof his stubblethe tenderest love.
in a worldfull oftemporary thingsyou area perpetual feeling.
the saddest thing is to bea minute to someone,when you’ve made them your eternity.
a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand;but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon,when I don’t know, if you will ever come back.
tell meof something fiercer than the love with which i gaze upon youof something softer than the tendernesswith which i hold you.
there are some poemsthat we leave behindsome that leave us behindwhile some just livesilentlyin the heartcrumble, sometimesdwindledisappeardieand are rebornwhen you smile again.
i want to be in love with youthe same wayi am in love with the moonwith the lightshiningout of its soul.
Sometimes I think,I need a spare heart to feel all the things I feel.
it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too,have been bruised…by beauty.
because some thingssometimesaren’t ours to hold,but just beautiful to listen to.
Not words. nor laughter. but rather someonewho will fall in lovewith your silence.
whatever you dobe gentle with yourself.you don’t just livein this worldor your homeor your skin.you also livein someone’s eyes.
You are that one breath. that puts all the remaining breaths. back into my body.
Whatever you get out of poetry – take it. take it. take it. Words are better off felt than understood.
depth and substance.the two most exquisite qualities. be it in a poemor a person.
For it is up to you and meto take solacein nostalgia’s armsand our abilityto create the everlastingfrom fleeting moments.
love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers
Once in a while i am struckall over again… by just how blue the sky appears .. on wind-played autumn mornings, blue enoughto bruise a heart.
Do not turn me intorestless watersif you cannot promiseto be my stream.
in the afterglowof an evening raini lay downin the grass and think of youmy body acheslike an after-kissbreaking in soft firesand wildflowersmy dear, i will always bethis tender for you.
i’m glad to be alive in a world wherehis gently awakening eyesnourish the morning sun.
a silent night. – the most eloquent poem i have ever read.
Poems can getsleepless tooand becomethe loneliest thingin the universe.
May your love for me be likethe scent of the evening seadrifting inthrough a quiet windowso i do not have to runor chase or fall… to feel youall i have to dois breathe.
the onewho will jolt awakeall the unwrittenthe unsungand the unlived in me. i am waitingfor him.
i hope thatwhoever you arewherever you areand no matter howyou are feelingyou will always have somethingto smile about.
your smile.is the ultimategolden dream.all the poemsin the worldare waking up from.
be the kiss in my hairthat no one seesmove, when i movesigh, when i sigh…be that line from a poemthat i hold in my eyes.
and the afterglow…of your gaze…is the onlysweater that I need.
I breathe in…the fragranceof love, and moist sandthe onehis roses lefton both my handsI just keep on breathingevery momentas much as I canpreserving it, in my bodyfor the dayit can’t.
moonlight disappears down the hillsmountains vanish into fogand i vanish into poetry.
there is some achingthat will only heal…in the mosque of sleep.
Tell me..how do you stand there?filling the doorway….of my life.
i want to stay curled and cosiedand chocolated….foreverin my mother’s arms.
I want to read every book that’s writtenhear every song that was sungI want to gaze at every cloudand hold the zing of each fruit on my tongue.
poetrymelts my bones.enters my blood.and changesits composition.
When it comes to lovedo not eversettle for anythingless than magical.
a single poemthe thing that can keep melight on my feet,when my soul isheavy with sorrow.
If I began to drawmyself away from youwe’d still be liketwo mixed colors of paintimpossible to separate.
May our twilights mix togetherlike breath and breathlessness.
We hold on to poetry because it lights a fire in our soul and keeps our bodies warm.
A single poem, alonecan turn tidesscatter galaxiesand burst forth with riversfrom paradise.
Watch, how the sunslowly risesfrom behind my earnew lines, new countriesspring up in my palmsmy rough hairbecome swaying silkand all the leavesin my bodybecome lusher than fruits.
And stay, my dearstay…forever, as my quiet song,in my lilac dawn.
leave me some musicthat’s chocolate for the heart.
I realizedJune had never beenjust a monthmusic…never just a trembleon my lipswarmth was nevermerely a blanket.
I breathe in…the silenceof my own heartaching with tendernesswith memories..Of home.
I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those…soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.
this heart yearns…for the salt of unsmelt airunswept thunderstorms…unknown adventures.
I am filled time and againwith a heart-aching wonder when I thinkof the fireand frost of memoriesof the everlastingnessof lovethe solace of familyand the power of prayer.
kisses explode when… someone believes in me when my heart cries out a song of thanks to yours.
When I write…I am in the fond armsof a childhood friendupon whose colorful heart I can hang the charcoal drawingsof my woes.
my dear, I have nothing to say.my heart burns like the evening sky.
Hands. Cheeks. Eyes. Lips.Neck. Ears.Thighs.Heart. Soul.Ahh!the things I get tosavor you with.
my dear,we are all made of water. it’s okay to rage. sometimes it’s okay to rest. to recede.
you are ever the only onei want to giveall the peachesin my heart tothe only one by whomi want them bruised.
my motheris pure radiance. she is the suni can touchand kissand holdwithout getting burnt.
we always knewthat good times camewith termination contractseven if we weren’t quite readyto sign it.
may my touchalways…be tenderas i would strokemother’s cheekswhen she cried.
The world is thinningand the earth…it’s still spinningmy world is thinningand it’s all because of one person I’m missing.
believe me when i say this.when you lovesomeone.you can travel the worldin their laugh.
Turn your fears into excitement.Your anxieties into enthusiasm. Your passion into energy.
all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.
how is it thathe’s alwaysin my thoughts. even when i am not thinking.
i am eithera stormor a drought.in-betweenshave neverbeen my thing.
i am infinitely yearningbrimmingand overflowingin wordsi discoverit’s another wayfor meto be in tears.
kisses… areand always will be the only language that I will have ever truly known.
how can i everbreathe normally againafter having been cradledby the kind of sorrowso silent, that it nourishesafter having been sweptby the kind of joyso absolute, that it wounds.
What you are trying to let go of…is already gone.
I write because there are things in me that cannot die.
poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.
Your words… I hold them deeplike ancient skinshold wrinkles.
everything that is scatteredcomes together in wordseverything that is lostcomes back in poetry.
in the endit is wordspoetry. sunsetssomeone’s deep blue silk voice.mountain scents.someone’s smile.eyes. that we haveno defenses against.
How strange and ironic it is- all the words i long to sayare lost in words.
A single poemis worth a hundredcozy winter nightskind wordsand healed wounds.
how these words, wait to diein the arms of all the poetry..yet to be written.
Poetry keeps mein a highly drunken stateof divinity.
sometimes i wake upin the middleof the nightand findpoetry splatteredall over my bed.
i am alwaysstalking you, my dear. with my thoughtsmy words.my breath.
for we all have our own twilights and mistsand abyssesto return to.
some words bring warmthjust bybeing next to each other.
what ismore beautifultears, in someone’s eyesfor meor in my eyesfor them.
wordslike mysterious mermaids come and live permanentlyin the soft sweepsand scars of my skin.
i would rather havefeelings without wordsthan words without feelings.
Scatter as a prayerescaping my lips…as orchidsblooming in clouds.
You only have to do one good thing to be in somebody’s lifetime of prayers.
One clear moment, one of trance One missed step, one perfect dance One missed shot, one and only chance Life is all…but one fleeting glance.
we are all like poems. some of us rhyme. some don’t. some are Pulitzer prizessome are just scribblesand yet, we all possessa special kind of beautythat can either heal or cut to the boneone that can never quitebe fathomed, nor forgotten.
holding the eveningtremblingly close to mei weepinto the sun lettingthe burdenof hopelift off my chesti realizethis is what it meansto be free.
give mea pillow of strongever-dependable shouldersthat i can bury my head in.
most of the timesit’s the hardest to saywhat I love moreyouor your memory.
love canembellish its beginningsing its blossomingand engrave its eternitiesbut can never explain its loss.
Sometimesthe things that make you cryare more beautifulthan the thingsthat make you laugh.
There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.
If I’m not around I hope you’ll remember me and together we will hold on to our favorite song.
our feet are grape-squashed in memoriesour skins are still flushedfrom the touch of summer’s lips.
I find it incredibly amazing how at every sunset, the sky is a different shade. No cloud is ever in the same place. Each day is a new masterpiece. A new wonder. A new memory.
The magic fades too fastthe scent of summer never lasts the nights turn hollow and vast but nothing remains…nothing lasts.
the nights would be orphaned without the sound of crickets chirping.
Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.
Fall in lovewith the energyof the morningstrace your fingers along the lullof the afternoonstake the spirit of the eveningsin your armskiss it deeply and thenmake loveto the tranquilityof the nights.
your gazeacrossmy cheeksturned theminto strawberry fields.
Some days I don’t know what is greater.My wisdom, or my stupidity.
Poetry has saved me on occasions when people couldn’t.
Sometimes the rainfallsjust for you and meto be the violinplaying in the backgroundof our loneliness’s song.
What’s a rainy daywithout some deliciouscoffee-flavoured loneliness?
i have known yousince the beginningof timethe one i have loved alwaysin spirit.only just discoveredin person.
When admiring other people’s gardens, don’t forget to tend to your own flowers.
I want to have a romance so grand,it would have made Shakespeare fumble for words.
I was coming together…limb by limb, after being brokenfor an infinity.
The most beautiful, amazing and inevitable fact about life- Everything has a natural healing process.
It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.
This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms.only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.
How….will I ever truly depict you?You’re perfect, my writing isn’t.
to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone’s eyes.
may this poetrybe the homeyou will someday come back to.
my poetry is merely a body.you are the soul in my words.
..i spill intothe kind of silenceonly Khalil Gibran would understand.
A rain like melting pillows…a rain so beautifulI could neverhave let go ofif not certainthat someday…it would find its wayinto my poem.
let my heart always belike it is…this very momentready to explode…with lovea violent rainstorm…with no streamno ocean vast enoughto flow into.
you are here.the moontides are here.and that’s all that matters.
tread carefullyinto my life, my dear.the currents are strong.you will get lostin this warm oceanof my skin.
If my life were a fragrance, it would smell like the sea.
for those memories are nowjust like these little kittensI hold in my handsthose can be kissedand treasuredbut not held too tightly.
you wereand always will bethat first ever touchto have fertilizedthe groundbeneath my life’s treesthat first ever roseto have fragrancedthe rest of my memories.
when I finally begin to driftinto sleepyour memory is the…firstand the moonlightthe last, to kiss my face.
you areas fleetingly beautifulas a mother’s tearsand a father’s pranksa brother’s bachelorhoodand a best friend’s bad mooda bride’s glittering jittersand a handsome stranger’s smile.
she’s gotoceanstucked awayin her hairpoems swimunder her skin.
the mostbeautiful tideis the sweepof your heartagainst mine.
violent storms. and beautiful smiles. both have electricity. both are equally destructive in nature.
poets. have the toughest jobin the universe-of turning silenceinto eloquence.
There is a moon,that rests in the quiet cornersof a lover’s lips.
when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.
savorwith methe lushnessof a lingering sleep…and last night’sdream.
you make autumn misttaste like champagne and turn winter raininto the elixir of life itself.
my love is a winter’s mistgently dissolvingthrough the windowat the nape of your neck.
my lovefor youwill always belike a mountain stream.quiet. persistent. continuous.
funny how our heartswere designed to loveso fiercely.but break ever so gently.
fierce lovers.and battle warriorsboth comefrom the same place. there is bound to be,some bloodshed.
slow down, oh sweet tearsflowing nectar…down my lashes’ tipssomedaysomeone will kiss you away,even before you can reach my lips.
i am so crammedfull of fearsthat if you were to touch me i might eitherfly or break.
You should be more carefulwhen you move, my dearwhat with you…spilling moonlightinto my poem, with a mereflick of your hand.
May the nights always be aglowwith the bliss of the daywith unharmed hands and feetand kissed cheeks.
Love me…with all the abandonof a sudden wild rain.
I have woken up…quite sloshedfrom night-mingled rainsa little drugged, by mountain fogsI have been kidnappedfor years….by a mere kiss.
the time will come, my dearwhen I will hold you closeand all will beright againin the world.
Drink in the moon as though you might die of thirst.
Look athow deeply flawedwe areand yet capable of lovingso perfectly.
I wouldn’t mindif life left me…winglessburnt to cindersripped by stormsscattered…like weedscelestially woundedwithout cherry blossomsto perish withbut I would crywith head held in my handsif it left me…unfulfilled.
for all I can really do isstand herein September’s rainsavoring…soaking it all inslipping..and simplyholding on to poetryfor dear life.
At the end of the day all we ever need is something that helped pass the time and something that keeps time from passing.
Like a speeding trainI am passing by…I don’t knowwhere I’m headingwith whom or whyall I know is thatI will never, everpass from here againall I know is I’m skidding forwardon this track of life.
leave me a smilejust warm enough…to spend a milliongolden afternoons in.
I want you to crave the crisp ocean breezeas much as I do.I want your soul to beas rain-swept as mine.
As the sky prepares to settle its tired, aching feetinto the night’s velvet slippersI settle, into my armchair, soaking the teabag,of my thoughts, into warm liquidy stars.
I live there…Far above the song-filled clouds,where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.
kisses happenwhen my morning blueberry muffin sails slowly upon my savoring tongue.
i can’t always tell what’s betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.
Give mea moon-blanket nightto keep me warma long-gone smileto comfort mea pair of rain-blue eyesto haunt mea simple soul…to love me.
let me diefrom having being drunk onindigo skies, my liver…overflowing with stars.
I live there…where the birds are infiniteeverywherewhere they fleeit’s a place your eyes can wanderbut never seeWhere everyone accepts me,Without any pretenseIt’s a place your mind can picturebut never really comprehend.
I blink January’s lashesand gush down December’s cheeks
Maybe life is all about twirling under one of those midnight skies, cutting a swathe through the breeze and gently closing your eyes.
when i speak to youi speak as thoughi am offering a rosein your hand.
the ocean mist engulfs me, like a lifetime’s friendship honored.
the sapphire depthof my own love…startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.
some poems frothand foam and rise…out of my morning cup ofmist-sweetened coffee.
this life has been a landscape of painand still,flowersbloom in it.
…and so many colorsI will have seen…the menacing greysand pine greensthe soft pink and purplesof springand summer blueand so many otherswithout you.
I do not want to sleepfor fear I might miss the twinkle of the brightest starfor fear I may never knowhow the moon glimmers, in the darkest hour.
someday i will walk under the soul-blossom tree with my hand eternally woven in yours.
there have been morningsso quiet and tenderlike a poem, on Thursday’s lipsthat I wonderedif I’d been kissed at all…
may my faith always beat the end of the daylike a hummingbird…returningto its favorite flower.
i will forever be collidingwith a billion unnamedundiscovered stars, each of uson our own orbital paths.
love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.
when i write of you, my deari am holding youin the most exquisiteways.
A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.
You touched my heart…ever so softlyand I realizedtears had never been…merely saltand the rainOh the Rain!had never been merely water.
sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.
Poems are soft kitten furs. smoothing out the rough edges of my world.
it is to be savored like a seabreeze-whispereddream…in the mysteriousblue minutesbefore dawnlike a secretinfatuation…. like slowlanguorous sipsof green tea… like a lingeringglimpsea self-wrappedparadiselike his name upon my lips.