Time

In perfect lines

We began our story

Dancing in the rain

As a perfect cover

For the last fall.

Parked by sentiments riverside 

Cloaked in spillage tantrums

Jived in logical denial

We fell for each other's hive

Drawn to the nectar.

Fumbling to the park!

Drunken

We emerged to stand

Lust white washed 

Heels glued to a tango

Tapped in coordination.

Dared

Salsa infused

Both collision-ed

Cupid paroled

Prison's role call escaped

Magnetically attracted.

The First Ink to Last

Under a cloud of mystery

Where signs of tomorrow

Seem to tango with the ghost of yesterday.

Breathing

A task for kings and queens.

I!

Being a mere servant

Sipping on imagination

To un-pair these parallel unending thoughts

Where dreams hang upon.

For once,

The pen was the story

Now a demon that hovers

As fear inks the tale

Imprinted on canvasbacks

Where battles of its memorability

Makes a buffoon out of my breath.

Dancing on public tapestry

Where notions,

Dress with knives

And to live:

Is a personal mercy plea

Shrouded in eyes with voices

Loud in their awakening.

In Love With Our Mistakes

Photo by Edward Eyer from Pexels

 Sniffing love out of lust

Hands bound to the last call

Happiness hidden in hellos

Sounding like goodbyes.

We scatter the room

Into taking whiff emotions

Lost by the dollar.

For today's love

Is a price tag

Strung up on materials

Demolished at hatred disguised

As lust in love.

But love

Mudded

By madness

Scarred in our entanglement.

"Do you love me?"

A rope hangs!

Insta-Booth

Photo by Guilherme Almeida from Pexels
 

All, we cared about

Was painting a picture.

A picture perfect

Yet our imperfections

Always bubbled up to the top.

So! We took a scissor

Cropped up our stories.

But our stories 

Were bitter

about our lies.

So! They exhumed our emotions.

Laid bare our thoughts

That picture perfect

Stood a fallacy

At the alter of reality

And brought to life

Insecurities.

There a broken story

Became us.

A sad nation in fun

As we strolled in lines

That bind our lies

Fostering us

To un-candid pain.

The Past We Are!

 Before the war

hell was all that we saw

then came the three

a message they held

and the bush

our forefathers went.

But paradise

they saw not

bleeding for freedom

the reigns of terror remained

as of the jungle, they never left.

Years later!

The jungle we all still are

plotting war

all the same

as their purport, the death for a nation

yet the nation denounce

their reign of terror.

I guess we are,

animal farm on rotation

sung on George's notation

"we all but equal for some more equal."