Sometimes love,
I feel your shouts like hammers knocking down...
Imagination, my dearest friend,
Ever since I met you when I was a child...
Sometimes,
I feel like an old soul trying to find rest...
To write a story in free verse
is to let the prose in you go berserk...
Tip toeing 'round a tree of thoughts,
the one that has spheres like planets...
Poetry is like love and life, and time, and death
and what not...
Hey friend, don't let this love of yours
be some kind of rope...
This sadness is the kind of sadness
found at the streets in my dreams - the type...
May be, I am this book on my lap?
The one I usually close to nap...
Outside the rustic porch,
near the stairs that bloom with magnolias...
The moon got over my head
like the watch on my wrist...
If I just knew that God does not exist
And that once Death comes to approach us all...