To the self, I wish I'd never become.
They say all great poets eventually end up writing a final poem about death. So this one is mine on her third anniversary!
An ode to the taciturnity in the time when our social institutions are begging and buried in the salt of power.
What does love know about language? 27 hatred/love letters to let you learn from my pasts and possible future.
Was it love if she had to kneel down to kiss your pride?
We were the salt rubbed on our foreheads while swimming in the ocean of ache that haunted love.
Nature has been following chaos while man still preaches their children of order.
What if all of our broken bones be used to compose a symphony that we shall play on triumph of humanity?
Note: These words will neither be able to give colors to your suffering like the painters nor be able to recite you a melody to help you tame your demons. These are nothing but cold strings meant for strangling yourself on a nasty Sunday morning till you realize now is the time to wake back [...]
Disclaimer This piece will never become deep enough for you, it will neither be warm nor comforting even in your happiest of the days. Do not drown here Darlene but float on its surface and swim further away this time. There are no additional dimensions of beauty hidden here but some simple plain words jotted [...]