Died, esoteric cries of pride,
O’ love, dream a might.
Strode on death, how far is alive?
Guffawed the abhorrence to bide.

In a forest , she slumbered,
Envisaged eyes, unencumbered,
Story i screeched is unnumbered,
Voice ,of a humbird.

Dry, like a dessert,
Cactus, so hassled.
Why this life is not lucently castled?
Does mighty even wrassled ?

Wrassled for reality,
Chicanery and its perpetuality,
For every orienation of sexuality,
Five , four or subsisted tridimensionality.



I write what i see, and feel what i breathe. Poetics, Realism is what i bathe in. Hope do i not that you see my words than just read?

%d bloggers like this: