when Silence tickles

Since then
You entered in my heart
in  swan like grace, and
have linked my smiles to unseen tears,
and threw me
into an endless chase, where
silence tickles the melting hopes.

Thy music sweet O love!
has no harp nor flute,
some bitter beats
that swarm
in the hollow streets, and fools
my filthy passions
and self esteem.



Muses’ Mourn

Oh i can’t wipe
my tears
in the falling rain,as
downward i see
the man falls,
and slowly the time poisons
my soul that counts on
the lifeless abstractions.
Can you hear the mourning
of Muses?
…lamenting the death
of art and poetry.


To My Son, Jan

Your breaths, I hear 
are out of tune, and your eyes
reflect a cat like regret.
Oh seek comfort my child,
in sorrows, in pains, as
love may not bless you again,
and the mutiny of heart(you don’t know)
shadows death.
You can’t cerebrate the insanity
of dull minds, nor the purpose
of life you’ve  designed.
Life will not allure you
in your sleepless nights.
Oh who grabs your skies
and pulled the earth from you?
Rise, and be the lord of your fate,
under your wings, lie
the world beyond your fancies,
but the fears that dwell inside you,
gonna make you cry.
So, dance with death, my son,
and live as if you have nothing
to lose.


A Funny World

It’s really a funny world 
where we live in…
Here we cage butterflies
and set the scorpions free
to bite.
And here the nights fall 
when the day gone wild, and 
the noiseles wind
silently sings
hymn of the baffled minds.
O my wandering eyes! ride
the unseen hue
in the falling rain
to paint 
the gloomy sky
with my sleepless dreams.


An act of God

Like a shadow in the dark
do not follow me, O easeful death! 
Come, hold me closed
in your white wings.
would it be an act of god
if i kiss thy coldest lips? 

A cabaret in the backstage
is not much scandalous
as a razor sharp Striper
of the weekend nights.So am i, 
In frosty years of life
tried to read a blueprint
of fate, designed in haste.

And it
revealed unto me
a secret, that’d never been told…


Tooty Fruity Booty

Since turned SEXteen, I’m
enkindled by sensations strange: 
itching, hot, but serene, 
and try to seek rainbow
in my sleepless nights, 
thou’ scare if go outside.

Oh the problem is my sheer physique: 
when my jiggly bum and
jugs are viewd, 
then the wild luxury of MAN
is sprung upon me
like the buzzing bees.

And when a flirty wind tickles
my ever growing streaching shirt, 
I can see their sordid fantasies
in their lusty, stinky looks, 
and they call me then
a tooty fruity booty.

But I’m a bitter pill to swallow, 
they surely don’t know. 


Pseudo Tears

Like a phantom
in the sinking sun
I am walking 
ahead of a ‘marching funeral’
where i m coffined
in the whites and 
being taken 
away from the ‘lights’.
Oh I am followed by
bands of maroon, dressed in
gloomy dark and look
bright and gay, but
appear to be ‘blue and down’
with pseudo tears.