Stares
Ridge
Clothes of nakedness
Mystique lurks like a fat rat
Hug
Trip
Kiss
Waiting to soil what new thing I and you have—
Hiding in old shadows that refuse to leave. But
Laugh
Bus stop.
I can see your footprints
All over Amasaman
And you have springs in your step
Hurt
Work
In your time I shall see your skill
Your creative spirit reels
Wearing letters before skirts
Then getting nude when the world’s most alert
Love
Let’s resurrect the buried parts
Pasts filled with joy
Regained at instances where we tear our passion
Passion that can be smelt centuries from today with today
And leave them to be picked up again, and again, and again
And littered.
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
