how these words, wait to diein the arms of all the poetry..yet to be written.

sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.

i would rather havefeelings without wordsthan words without feelings.

I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood,neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too...

you are here.the moontides are here.and that’s all that matters.

Change the world, I know I won’t,Enthralling as always I hope it remains,A kaleidoscope of joy, sorrow and pain.But my only wish as I take this jaunt,Is for my words on you to impress upon,A...

the sapphire depthof my own love…startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

When it comes to lovedo not eversettle for anythingless than magical.

Tell me..how do you stand there?filling the doorway….of my life.

Live as many lives as you can.

Wordsare powerfulforces of nature.they are destruction.they are nourishment. they are flesh. they are water.they are flowers and bone.they burn. they cleansethey erase. they etch. they can eitherleave youfeelinghomelessor brimmingwith home.

this heart yearns…for the salt of unsmelt airunswept thunderstorms…unknown adventures.

you wereand always will bethat first ever touchto have fertilizedthe groundbeneath my life’s treesthat first ever roseto have fragrancedthe rest of my memories.

So every dollar spent on finding some gene or hormone to explain why becoming fat is not because of sugary drinks, fried foods or unchecked gluttony is a dollar not spent on getting food for...

love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers

You touched my heart…ever so softlyand I realizedtears had never been…merely saltand the rainOh the Rain!had never been merely water.

When you left you left behind a fieldof silent flowers under a sky full of unstirred clouds…you left a million butterfliesmid-silky flutters You left like midnight rain against my dreaming ears Oh and how you...

what ismore beautifultears, in someone’s eyesfor meor in my eyesfor them.

Whatever you get out of poetry – take it. take it. take it. Words are better off felt than understood.

i can’t always tell what’s betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.

most of the timesit’s the hardest to saywhat I love moreyouor your memory.

I prefer people to consider me by who I am and what I do and not by how I look!

fierce lovers.and battle warriorsboth comefrom the same place. there is bound to be,some bloodshed.

I wish to stay drenchedforeverin those rain-blue eyesin those…soul-reaching crystalsnot moving a musclenor breathingjustsavoringthis turquoise acheagainst my heart.

There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.

Tea is just an excuse.i am drinking this sunset, this evening.and you.

may this poetrybe the homeyou will someday come back to.

You put cow dung on my face?’ ‘Every day religiously until you were three. Why else do you think your skin is so clear?

when whisperedwhat an exquisitesong, it makes-your name.

Poems are invisible flowers on my skin.

I live there…Far above the song-filled clouds,where the dewdrops touch my skin so bareI live there.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too,have been bruised…by beauty.

Poems can getsleepless tooand becomethe loneliest thingin the universe.

i want to stay curled and cosiedand chocolated….foreverin my mother’s arms.

i writebecauseit is the only wayi can reach you.