Shelley’s servant”. Wasn’t that a wonderful gesture of humility by someonewho was such a great poet himself? And later, Bharatiyar had his own dasan, the poet Subburathinam, who tookthe pen name Bharathidasan. Subburathinam’s poetry inspired...

Her silhouette never has regrets.

You are my reality, fantasy, daydream, fairytale, music, more than the princess in Cinderella; you are much more than a traditional myth.

Bridge burned from end to end,and I don’t miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI’ve birthed freedom.

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

But then you left exactly how all the sad songs said you would

Don’t be afraid of Pain. Pain only comes down to a certain point… beyond that, it can’t reach you and the love you have inside.

I’ve never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.

Honor a good woman because she is virtuous and honorable.

Por la misma ventana rasgada, rasgada por los años que han transcurrido observo por uno de los orificios que tiene el vidrio el cual pareciera que llora por las gotas que ha dejado la noche...

Katanya,Kalau jodoh, alam semestapun akan ikut mendukung.Tapi ini BUKAN.Waktu tak pernah berpihak.Bahkan hatimu TIDAK.Bukan sekali, tapi 3 kali ketukan.Aku pikir itu cukup.Cukup untuk 1 kesimpulan.

If I cannot fix your broken heart can I put mine in its place, because these stars are not enough, and all the money in the world does not equal your worth.

I bleed to un-break you,un-mending me.I fall to save you…now who will save me.

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

And you’re a tall drink of water because we’re so fucking thirsty

…cause it was hard… so much harder… when I couldn’t live with me.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

Romance her, enhance her, desire her, put her first.

Everything is all right,When you’re here,When you’re right next to me,When my hand is in yours,Don’t leave me,Don’t leave me empty handed.

Thy’s bleeding heart confides in the With one’s thoughts and troubles Let the kiss thy’s lips To ease thou’s pain Thy am thou’s comfort Lie thou’s head on mine pillow Of soft consolation And let...

I must find you. So I travel to the depths of hell and conquer perverse monsters and repulsive demons and the deceitful vicious devil himself to find the truth.

In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.

some words bring warmthjust bybeing next to each other.

thighs made of hymns, I read ’em like I’m reading runes. Now tell me where my future lies…your neck, can I Savion on it?

Decades from now, my grandchild is going to be a poet… And she’s going to write about how she’s a living testament to how her grandmother made love to hurricane and calmed the storm.

Different lifestory but with a same lovestoryThey mey once by serendipitySmiled at each other but totally stranger

Impulsive passion please set me free.

A sacred soul Thus, within the cosmic creation proceed Life is precious as gold Death will come In a better place, where there’s no earthly lifeEternity exist…God….. Judgement falls upon usNothing to minus and nothing...

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

Creation of a pregnant imagination.

I can’t love anymore.Except for you…I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

All beautiful distractions, ignites from you.

You bothered yourself and changed the season. I was left behind with your awful sounds.

And perhaps, I’m a Tuesday night and you’re a Wednesday morning the way we’ll never even notice how we blend into each other.

…I don’t want security – to be self-assured – I want to risk my heart in making your portrait and be paid the wages of your devotion…

We simply can’t feel fulfilled by love we pay for.

It is kind of ridiculous that a poet is expected to live in the real world.

Frequent friction when love becomes political.

I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

And like nectar inside the bud,my blood drinks from your blood, beloved,and starves to join the salvation in your eyes;to be understood again and again, by your nakedness and certainty, a humbleness that trickles into...

If my like for you was a footy crowd, you’d be deaf cos of the roar.And if my like for you were a boxer, there’d be a dead guy lying on the floor.And if my...

They call it poetry, what she feels with her mouth closed. By his.

…you can use words if you wish, but I’m warning you – I’ve learned how to read your heart …

The beauty of words will forever be stronger than the silence of tears.

EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal.From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)

This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms.only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.

My emotions have already spilled out on a canvas; I need you my king, to rescue me from the madness!

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

Mislaid flame of tender emotionsRekindled.Together we live to the point of tears,I wouldn’t want it any other way.

In the Light of your Wisdom, You Shine. In the Midst of your Truth, Your Faith is Evident. From inside your Spirit, You are Love.