On my Birthday

The day has come to a reckoning,

the day of the forlorn awakening,

The day has come again this year as the fall

witness the foilage clamouring for your footsteps,

under which the leaves crunch to dust,

like me waiting in seclusion for the meeting,

again the day would pass under the bridge of time,

hardly whispering a second but a song of minutes,

Only if you could sing in the melodious voice of yours,

but the music is dead under the weight of its own symphony,

Another day would vanish but before I cut the cake,

and think about why this day came to my fate,

rendezvous with the earth!



The lines on the skies

Love is the toughest battle on the soil of love mongers,

who calibrate with the pulse of heart a needle,

to silence the morning’s ad infinitum absurdum,

the cosmos silence the beat of the pale stars,

to give birth to the new white stars washed in,

the unison of thurst the bodies entwined in love-making,

as if the whole world has come under the sieve of the noon

Art of love

A bird drenched in rain asks

In this rain I have received the nature all  soaking

Like a breath caught in the throat

Oh God why did you make the heart?

And kept my soul in a shorter frame of art

Then the rain stopped and the sun shone its light

And gave the bird a shy flame but the thunder did not stop

And the voice of the bird became the sound of a flute