Micropoet

STUPIDITY

Today,
go undivine
with me and remain untouched,
in dwindling love of faith.

A forerunner of nothingness
in a theological mess,
breaking the mirrors
in a slaughter house, finding
a god.

Collecting ruins of sounds,
veils, traver

RETURN OF THE POET

It is autumn
grapes are bleeding.


The orange color
seeps into your eyes.
Will you shut the green lids?

You,
start reading backward.
Atavistic instinct
to dig up the severed hands?

Your house,
died
in the flower bed.

PEACE

Be with me
in this zone of pain.
My poems was walking
through me.

The flute I broke,
in the river of silence.
Someone was whispering
to me in sleep.

Why this desire of awakening
in darkness,
when light was waiting
at the window?

give in, and the slumber takes me away.

ON THE GALLOWS

Lead me into, the green darkness, under
the nude flames.
It was hurting; the golden sun.

Out of full moon, werewolves would
come out
chasing the flesh, the long limbs

of silence, in asci of fluids, stopped
in tracks.
No seed

DON’T THROW THE BOMB

They will not come down
with branding iron and bobbing stings.
Instead.
we will walk down the earth,
to meet the silence
in half-lit homes of enemies.

This poverty
of pause
and peeling off from giants of
fences. I send

ALWAYS

How will you carry the mount of tears
in the vally of temples? Kites flowing
in sky of beings-egos-denials and
repeals.

Smiling at pain I unspeak to a keeper
of cage, under the shadow of golden
roses, walking with blue eyes of private

SPLENDOR

While writing a poem
I make a blood hole
in my hand.

A walnut face
opens the wrinkles
to find a jade green nephrite
for colicky times.

A prelude to
a death sentence
for profane thoughts.

You think, you can postpone
insomnia of

FOR ANYTHING

A fake sanity with its wisdom
enlarges the space between the coarse
land of craft and sea of emotions
for stress to walk with soul
in sleep.

A dope for the last hurt in hurricane
at burning lake where I was collecting
the black

DANCING ON LEASH

It was a failed attempt
to employ the eternity
for breathing.

Iris, I cannot find the moon
behind the rainbow, when
I was throwing petals at your feet.

O, white truce of anemone,
why phosphrous was given up
at the fall of

REVVED UP

It was getting dark.
The insane curve of greed was rising.
I would not draw the boundaries
between the words.

The finch was immersed
in soliloquies and light was waiting
inside the seeds.

I open my eyes
and yell at the clouds in

i wonder every minute of my wake, how to keep you keep warm inside.

soft and cold, however tainted.

we are all subject to permanent deletion.

period.

SPOTTED IN GLASS

Perfect bridges for a fading light
taking you to dark caves
like fireclay in fake sorrows.

The superstition of a race pool
and unearthing the sacred temple
under a mount of lies.

In vitro a baby god sleeps
waiting for a but

HEALED LANDSCAPE

An unusual melody,
a reticent antiquarian
I will wear my galloping age
with your dark eyes.

The lines were drawn
in the crocus fields.
We were fighting for the wild
immitative geckoes.

A toad stumbles out from the eyelids

INTEGRITY AT LARGE

Was that a non-devil effort
to hide the language
from cultural onslaughts?

The anger splits the opinion
about hurting goodness.
An isolated insult will spur

the words against the flight over
the answer, before the brush

BURNING

After the puppet show,
the nest was calling.
Indeed, the leaves held the slanted light
expanding the shade snared on branches,

of dancing ash, of almond eyes.
Why the hangman was waiting
for the echo? The river was calling.

Was this

THE PRESENCE

The hawk was landing.
Squinting at the urgent need
of slaughter and hope –

among the frightened hunger
of truth, of running feet
in the tall grass.

A world apart in
seeking the reality of
dying for earthly love.

I was not su

REMINISCENCES

The sludge overtakes the sane
euphoria.A barefoot caravan
of cloud becomes edgy.

The hills have gone green.
The cascading falls
tend to mount on the scattered stones.

Suddenly I go berserk and start
hitting the stars moon by m