PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

This was the night of
torture. Why the sun went to sleep
in twilight? Black panther turns vulcanic.

Let us make a bargain.
A long deep grave opens the mouth
to receive the guests seeking justice.

If you think about a
myth of a flight in a moonrise,
nobody knocks at the door.

My ocean of love,
nobody knows from where it starts,
where it ends. It conceived a sun.

Cleopatra, why did
you go? The earthly pain still
comes up to begin the war.

You lift a song at the
door of a stranger to change the world.
But the world has changed you.

Faceless. Don't close
my sky. You know the moon has
a harsh place. Will you meet me in the dark?

Between a duck and the
wolf, the predator wins. I will not
need Shirley Temple now.

How not to die, when
every time the boat sinks without
water. Love was always mesmerizing.

An ageless curse bites.
You make it hard. O my pride,
I am changing the course of life.

A pinch of salt worsens
the taste of love. A knife kindles
the moon. The beads were falling.

The bullet has a cause.
You open the chest. Centuries get
ready for a moment of pause.

When the emptiness
speaks to collect the noughts,
it was all time strange dying.

The blood was exiled.
No visible injury. Deep inside
a void was filled with weird sounds.

Honey bees learn adultery.
From one rose to another. Now I
want a temple of no gods.

I don't understand,
what I muse. The legacies were
very rich for a long meaning.

Beauty and love, l
will read the Gita. Then comes a barren
truth in between the lies.

There was no fever. Still
the winter does not go. The candle
burns but no light at feet. Only sorrow.

Your language spins,
and you want to repatriate your
holy words. Nascent love opens the eyes.

The cruel pain comes
again and again. I was hunting
the wounded cobra and smelled fear.

What offends your heart?
I wanted justice for readers who
don't want the book of rebirth.

It was modernism.
The wind blows above the wings.
Poetry shouts war.

An ocean pain spreads.
Weather beats the years. Like tangerines
you hallucinate red poppies.

You have taken away
my eyes, ears and tongue. I will
not run out the blood tears.

You had opened up
with a fragile body and collided with
the moon. Some pieces of light fell down.

Path of shattered glass
appears. Do you bleed without pain? Like
you lose a book in flowing tears?

I am glad death doesn't
come, even after the rain of missiles.
The screams are still coming from the graves.