Try to run away from autumn Hiding those leaves in your palm You see the people who are poems, People who are stories, People who are words, Trapped inside this notebook With the metaphors and similes Broken pieces scattered in lines Haunted by the songs they sing.
Never find poems in the night When you slept with the windows closed, Slurry wind taps to open the words You filled with honey and mist, Smiling for the repressed sorrows Which cannot borrow the breath Nesting in the desperate air, Unfazed in the drunkenness of wine You tasted yesterday night, Only few hours to daybreak You search the old photographs, Inside the worn clothes That kept you warm till last winter, With the whistling of teakettle You woke up in pelted desire And find yourself in a treason.
Found the stain on my paper Melting into air Like the songs sung last night. I pulled myself back, It was a strange kind of pull. I looked in the mirror, My clothes were snagged, I saw the winter in my hair Like a poem traveled thousands of miles. I can’t smile Because I didn’t see the heart. Like weeping of the sea I sat quietly in the doormat My heart was wrapped with kindness Sailing across the dreams I stared beneath the window, When it rained I laid down on the grass bed Feeling their cold breath In my collar bones, I never heard the birds sigh For the songs of the wind Then I thought I was in wrong time.
One day I Placed a bookmark On the page I left to write, It was a friday And I remember it was a novel, With the story of untameable love, I was endowed with words Who relish their company Like a Stagnated river, Or a riveted glacier. Often they are abstruse Like the obscure clouds, Like to live with my intricate thoughts I abhorred all noises And listened to the elopement of birds, They cried loud, Tinged with warmth of sunlight. While tampering new world, You need to revel with love Especially the similes.
When you have put your diary open And wonder all the night what to write As the window outside freeze with snow Barely talking to the wind Listening to the calm night You expect the lights to go off And lie in the warmth of the table lamp Head on the soft pages That had been crumbled with your dreams When it was summer, all before. You forgot the lines, written long before In the blue beaded book Which you tied with the red stained thread That once belonged to your friend For whom you were writing so long, Waiting in the midst of the spring, But winter torn all the pages away.
Reflections of the street lights Mistook the naked roads so far, While the town slept with tales, Non perceivable and paradoxical. Transparent dreams Knocked their doors Filled with desires of loneliness, They never rest in their expedition But forgive the wings, to get tired. Travelers sorted out the poems of Sunflowers in the garden, Sleeping in the dark soil, Beside the empty vine bottles Touching their petals.
In sleep I see the shadows of blackholes Trembling inside the universe, Swallowing the stars and moons, Silenced by the dreams, they float, Through the oceans of galaxies In their darkest time and curvatures. As the waves hit the shores And stones crumble into pieces They rise in the sky higher and higher, Escaping from the gravity, Suddenly the tide falls, And I wake up in the trench of an ocean, With the shining pearls of the universe.
He thought I was writing my fate, Merely it was my poem. I went on a date last Friday With beautiful moonlit dinner, Finding my hands sweating dust, Finding a way into the night, Slumber of the stars and moon Died slowly from inside. As I knew the time had come, When I went to market To buy some ink But found later inside my pocket With dust and rust. My fingers dusted first Then pages of my books.