chaiNboli

Who are you? (a)A hollow pigeon (b) a wound gone softer (c) a secluded crayon (d) fifty three moons of Saturn. No one reads what you wrote on moleskin paper, Citrus lungs burning in morning, Borrowing courage and trading tears. You stumble over dream catchers, Hugging grief on your mattress, With razor sharp regrets, And buries lovers over a classic. Which is the similie of a mother? (a) A foe (b) lost best friend (c) places you bled (d) rain drenched flora If you put a weed on my heart Will it outgrow my cries? If you whisper gods name a hundred times, Will he become a familiar one rather than a blasphemy? You think my life is sad, Don't you know we are all dying anyway? What falls after the sunset? (a) an empire (b) my brave face (c) Truths (d) walls and people A poet's gloom is beautiful like a eye keep gloom in secret. It is a corridor where you smoke, Not a home where you laugh. It is a carbon sheet where history repeats in a mundane way. It is the stinky breath of a stran...

A mother is a bird,one that knows the clouds and the rain A snow flake turning into a kiss, A window with glass ceiling, A white hard bread, A wound no one talk about. If a mother is a wound then a daughter is a mucus spit, A rash hidden by jewels, A stillborn ambition, A given away dice, A scream straightened, A dried up volcano. If a daughter is a dried up volcano, then  A poem is a defeated emperor's head hanging on a magnolia tree, A worm receding into ball on your soft touch, A pearl stitched on chest. A field of grass where sun sleeps, A baby wearing dictionary for coat, A redemption of living dead. If a poem is a redemption of living dead Then death is the other half of a crescent moon, A lily blooming in heart of winter, A crushed mango twirling in soil, A cup of warm water in brutal storm, A hand holding you safe. If death is a hand holding you safe, Then you are a question, A warning sign  no one cares to look at.

How much sorrow is too much sorrow How much love is true love, Am a hunch back speaking in couplets, Tossing the curls in the sun, About hope i try to hold. Flinching in the dark watching shadows Iam a bird with only one wing, And we name it grief. My mother move in straight lines Asking me to follow her. Am a bouncing ball the dead play, I have no legs to move, I have no roads to run . There is love in all the silences I gathered and all the blades i threw away. My lover buries me in memory For not being an ideal muse. I didn't meant to scare him with the saddness i own. There is love the stains of coffee mug and in the apologies dripped from my mouth. I have tried, believe me. I bathed in daydreams to keep my fever sane on nights. I put a bag full of similies in sun to cruch over the hungry smiles. I have tried. I have found  broken alphabets in the glass case i own, Look at them, May be then you will understand what i wanted to say. Look at the swollen moon, There must be a god....

When a fish and a bird fall in love, where will they live ? In which tongue they will speak? How will they pray and to whom will they pray? How will they hold each other on a summer night? How will they walk on a street? How will they count days and nights? What will they gift each other? Will the wind smile at them Or will the rain cry on them? Will the leaves fall for them Or will the flowers bless them? But How will a fish and a bird fall in love?