My Resuscitation

Even when I pop the boiling bubbles,
Floating over my blood,
Bomb blasting it into bits and pieces,
Blood bathing this ashen heart,
Ice-filled buckets were added, stirred,
As if preparing a refreshing lemonade,
Yet, the heart aches into thunderous screams,
And as soon as I start to forget,
The heavens drop storms and devise nightmares,
Nullifying the colourful floral dreams,
Dreams once filled with glittering unicorns,
Unicorns galloping freely through rainbows,
Rainbows so magical mystically spreading
Smiles on my straightened lips,
And now I bloom,
Evolve into a butterfly, and indeed,
I have awoken from that darker-than-black abyss,
I am now my own therapist,
Voicing powerful rainbow smiles,
And getting ready for my resuscitation.

Galactic Funeral

She and he: the descendants of Erigone and Icarius,
An ancient relationship between the weeping heavens,
And if I were to step forward to touch her heart,
Polaris would stand on our heavens roaring,
Virgo would shoot its stars into thunderstorms,
But the intimate feelings from my touch starts pouring
Its floral essences into her starry eyes. So we dance.
Enraging monsoons envelope our little forbidden kiss,
And I touch her lips as we ascend onto our throne.

On the Verge of

Tell not the mind about the palpitating heart
As it surfs freely onto its emotional waves,
Keep the logic at bay to feel a heatstroke,
Just once, and maybe give it a sunburn, too,
Something that would bring joy after sunset,
Like an aromatic summer sun-kissed morning,
A breakfast to my longing lazy hazel eyes,
And as the world utters heart-full songs,
(An adventurous journey of many silences)
Mountains cry aloud many silences,
Waves crush wildly into many silences,
Thunderous lightening shocks many silences,
Until many silences shake the earths of our whispers,
A volcanic earthquake to erupt the
Palpitating heart while the mind is still at bay,
And then another heart-full song about
A hopeful journey of a dehydrating branch
Of a disillusioned tree that follows
The rotten stars into massive graveyards,
Tombstones carving elaborate false banners,
And as the morning cries many more silences:
Sacrificial ones, peaceful ones, hopeful ones,
Ones that would rehydrate that particular branch
Towards the heavens to soar over clouds of bliss.