chaiNboli

\\Only if I had a chest, without curves of two breasts,  my voice would have been  clear to your ears.\\ 1.LOVER Daylight shrink like a cat into the buttonhole of your clenched hands,  a tender hut where flowers of late evenings bloom into a sculpture beautiful than David. My love poems will sound like the grievances of a spring cricket to your ears,  sour names that pass chills through the teeth, leading an uproar of acidic volcanic anger. Like secret betrayals of folk tales carved in the gelatin mirrors with their sides chipped. Like the cold blur thumb mark of an invasive species. Like a weapon sharpening itself for the future war. And then we will turn into two strangers with friendly smiles in a train station. For now, don't play dead.. Or don't pity the dead. 2. MOTHER  The February breeze that twirls inside your ribs won't listen to your child's cry,  like the sun is deaf to the choking of a star while it is turning into a black hole. Like the cat is...

Someone I admired one told me that my breath contains sadness. That,the way I breathe is like a dance, a foot of despair and the other of melancholy. "Why are you so sad", she had asked. I didn't know what to say.  I couldn't say a sorry for making the air surrounding her impure. I stood there, like i Iost my tongue inside a conversation and everything is my fault. May be I didn't want to be pitied. I knew she had a golden heart. That she was more like an angel than a human. But I didn't utter a word, and asked myself to wake up, so that I can try to remember that this is just a dream. Dreams as in the midnight dreams, the uninvited guests with black gleaming shoes and foggy faces, with codes of insanity puffed in their mouths _not the ones that you see for yourself. The ones that pole dance in the midst of rebellious silence of full moon nights. The ones that are beautiful and tragic as the suicide letters of poets. The ones that slip away at the very moment ...

There are actually seven thousand metaphors for everything in this world,   to the god included, according to poets who wear words as amulets, a symbolic protection. Like, The softness of breaking of a heart in love  is same as the breath of a skelton. Or same as the free fall of a satellite, hicupping old love poems, ignoring the disappointment of scientists with glass eyes. Or the sinking of a teeth into a strawberry flavored chewing gum, not at all concerned about the expiry date. Or to hold on to the claws that look like beautiful hands of a Greek god. Or to strip out of happy memories in public and to wash the clothes in private. Or to attach an extra elbow to your throat inorder to silence the anger and helplessness mixed in an inappropriate proportion. Or it is parallel train where your face is reflected on the glass window, and for a minute you think of the beauty it holds. Or it is firing into thin air, realizing that air is the best target that can be offered to...

//And if you ask me what a prayer is, It is gentle stroke of a knife on one's arm. It is the feeling of pushing your finger against your eyes.// If prayers are liquid anger feeding protests of a zero polished mind, then don't forget that the god is laughing at us , his pigmented elbows steady in round table. He had borrowed his hands from a girl who was stretching in her balcony on a fine Sunday morning. She was actually mumbling a happy birthday to herself when he challenged the wind to be mischievous enough to push her to the ground. And the wind did it actually: the people pleaser who thinks himself as the cool,bad guy. The hands were, then  smooth and soft, without an extra lump of fat. But the creator's lazyife style now made it match his torso. But if you look closely, really closely, you can see the border where two skin colours meet. If prayers are glossy poems on the thin layer of an oil paper, then remember the god is an art critic, offering his loap sided smile e...