You Feel Blue

August Sky.
Image by Pat Dalton... via Flickr

You feel blue at times
You don’t know
You believe in God I guess
Or, a silver world cloud
You believe in yourself
I guess mortal is a syndrome
immortality are the pieces

a cerulean harbour for the sky…

Unmasking The Earth

Landscape near Palekastro (Crete, Greece)
Image via Wikipedia


You masquerader in performance
not slyness yet poise
wearing so many outfits
that even water could not wash entire
sea-beds are evidence of chance
that you decided to rest
your dancing begins again
as water-rain plays music

the artifice is your soleness
yet it is rumour-bound
you boast no eloquencies
you are too child-like to self-adore
and you wear bangles upon your belly
or limbs if you please
you give away them to your neighbours
for you have to explore

you may sometimes seem angry
yet what cloth does not fall off the shoulder
and yet fixing is needed
for all attires are borne

your appetites are friendly
yet all ravish you more
a plenitude is finite
you claim you are a mortal  observed
so all laws apply
death and life
you can open your mouth
to receive both
as occupants-guests
are adored

you are ageless-aged

in an eternal- mortal



Roads Of Rash

Turkish trenches on the shores of the Dead Sea.
Image via Wikipedia


This blemish that conceals
a concealed artefact
like blood that  conceals

integrity exists because debauchery
washes his hands
upon the same shores
and feels the same sands
toasts to the daylight moon
and night solar reflections

You compiled a few dictionaries for your heart
but detonation need connotations
to make himself seem less rash
your skin is injected
by a proboscis-laden latch
because you don’t see
sparkling sand
all that glitters can’t be gold
for light cannot function
in monopoly

the sands are kind
oh yes he is
to feed you delightful  fever
in a nice flask

the shores are endless
and so are mistakes
don’t let them be your sails
for mischief is worn easily

Roads of pebble and ocean
water and sand
blood and plasma
oh mortal dichotomies
mating forever
like fleshes of fruit
mixing with earth
like seeds mixing with air

let my skin be the sails
that flutters across
the ocean floors…


Impact publicitaire by Matthieu Riegler
Image via Wikipedia

A spirit is hurt
mitosis-cycle of criminal despair

my envied armour
is peace
for I had launched on chaos
the blanket burnt me bare
taught me tomorrow is better
without any blessings

my scarred eyes are threads
like slashed windows
and shattered walls
these cupboards
are used
to store misery profuse
and eyes bleed glamorously
the world a theatre of ignorance

my wrists are tied
with a blade
my monster is a planet
where I had seen real
your drowning is a deluge
of insincerity
why was
this hurt
this bonded body
corseted by pain?

I’m not made of glass
but breaking me
is a synonymy
my tongue is twisted
I’m not implanted
into everyday harmony

loss of childhood
loss of adolescence
loss of progress
retrospection claws me
nostalgia is nausea

I cry
but my tears
only tie me more

maybe as an angel

maybe as an angel

life is insane

yet if I see my wings
naked in the air

I’ll bleed no more…


A friend had died. I dedicate this to her. Abuse should not be tolerated. Its victims must be rescued. Please Pray that they do.
I’ll Pray To Allah Almighty that they do

Your Title Is Inscribed

"The two main cloud types are Stratocumul...
Image via Wikipedia

Interpreted by a tongue
most call bone
a sinewy intermingling with a throne
canvassing bodies
interloping with integrity
rushed are mouths
kissing words

armageddon to impiety
armageddon to insolence
forked is the vertebrae
that holds dichotomy to be only patience
wringed is the neck that eats only miscommunication
and ropelessly winged is
a dancer on the floors of clouds

I can’t censure you
I can’t censor you
you are just a dancer
a philosopher surmised
in your cocktail-sinewy mode
you are but a sky in a body

nothing erupts
all erupts
your explosion
is deadly
because it is natural
as air

it holds on to the words
creates language
as original as
the clouds

These Red Scattered Scenes

Plant in front of a mirror
Image by japi14 via Flickr


You’re impolite
you know
you bruise readily with your lips
a tongue bondage of ice and roped-tired decency
you hurt as you pine
thinking it’s easy
as it is easily mine

The art of a seducer is temporary
the art of a lover weighs more as the lover secures
your tongue is tasty
you kiss yourself


A red curtain
may easily bleed
when washed with water
deadly dilution
easily triggers
and leaking is only natural
if the wings are clipped
your  heart’s harp
is a string less to string

Deadly snakeness is a gene
those red monopoly of disgust
you tamper with the headdress
of depravity

One less role to play
a masquerader’s ball to dance
I unmask you
your eyes
they grow dimmer
in denial.