Nothing concrete holds the past;
only the fake empathy...
How do you escape
The very need to escape...
and then, you –
picturesque, plaited hair unfurled into loose...
and you -
where light was bountiful...
and if i die,
i don’t want you to mourn me...
I draw the sun
between the shades of time...
A samurai's strike, like in an oval,
jolts from one pivotal point to the other...
It's almost midnight at my side
only few minutes keep me away from tomorrow...
I often think of myself as a machine.
My miles of veins, tendons and sticky bits...
There is
an oak that sits...
She grows accustomed to
cold chains upon her wrists...
Collecting thoughts-
like stars inside a child's hand...