The world is ending

and a kite without tail is sitting on a bus stop

where women wearing baby teeth of their

dead lovers and sons as their lockets

bleed both with their vagina and heart.

Revolution is snoring inside mosquito nets

trying not to think about the white pigeons

with kohl smudged eyes and red bullet flower on its chest.

The world is ending

and the assassins are ironing their angel gowns

while my people are playing lucky draws

with their backbones abandoned in the corner of a pawnshop.

The little brides are playing with wooden dolls

waiting for the monsoon rain to bath them

Because their mothers are busy telling them

That they don’t need any lessons on their first night

and the other nights to come.

The world is ending and

democracy is in tour in a rented car,

fingering half truths and

shooing omens of it’s death.

The child without lips is

searching for cough syrup without realizing

that dreams still call him “untouchable”.

The world is ending but

our fathers refuse to cry over

our black charcoal bodies,

transferred to them without nameplates.

They nod their brown heads with white beards

listening to yesterday’s news that

 the flood was a suicide bomb with no address,

but with a religion.

The world is ending, but

we are still searching for the 

definition of love standing on an ant’s route

and crushing it like our words.

We carry distilled tears in trays

In hope to find the right one 

who will call our acid burnt hearts “beautiful”.

The world is ending and 

bats with baby faces 

kiss dandelions wishing for 

honeycombs where hope reside.

Their empty sockets gaze through 

snowflakes melting in the hands of

the green coloured worms with

 no thumb prints of their own.

The world is ending

So, we should write in fort walls that 

we are converts of each other.

May be then cabbage roots will 

Bloom into roses no deity can deny.

We should spread carbon copies of our gloom

 on the streets leading to radioactive Edens.

May be then people will realize that 

every pain is baked in the same inferno.

We should tell our mothers that 

we are bible quotes gone wrong.

May be then they will forgive us for being 

shiny metaphors with empty meanings.

We should rip each other’s clothes searching

for breast milk to feed our hunger.

May be then we will remember forever

that life is a cruel miracle.

We should let sleepwalkers to 

sit in the maze’s center and play.

May be then they will not ask 

questions that we cannot answer.

The world is ending.

Will you lift the lids of binoculars and 

watch my soul tossed into hellfire? 

Will it be okay if i hang in a nylon line
and recite poetry you wanted to read?
What will you call an unsung song
when it sleep in the graveyard?
Will you stumble on my mosaic rainbow cheeks
when you try to kiss a flower's sound?
will you collect my eyelashes and
annote your favorite quote on them?
The world is ending
and a poet is pickling his fingers
in dreams of a golden paradise.
The world is ending
while a caterpillar is weaving silver silk skies
and am holding my sadness closer.
When they ask for love 
i'll have none
but i will smile and 
i won't deny my sins.
May be then god will cry for creating 
a broken toy.

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