the colour harmony!!

She was a concubine Seventh in the series. Lean and pale With a chubby nose Yet, young and fresh For the plump old caliph. Like a newly brought shoes He wore her day and night Around the garden and Within the royal glass chamber. She was b(r)ought From her hill side hut Which smell of smoke Over dry hard ice. She never saw the other number series Only pale mute screams Of exhausted taste. Maids in service Frowned at her For her silence And dry wet eyes. She loved her chief maid, Saya Who brought her lilies And kissed her bruises. Together they swam across The channel of brute night loves They danced, Close together All through the night. Loved in the wild dark backyard When they heard The potbelly lust Panting In another chamber corner. The thick green backyard At the far of end Had a mossy well Shaded with chrysanthemum and Covered with strawberries. The well was insane. Had a legend etched To its thick damp stone walls. It...

She was a concubine Seventh in the series. Lean and pale With a chubby nose Yet, young and fresh For the plump old caliph. Like a newly brought shoes He wore her day and night Around the garden and Within the royal glass chamber. She was b(r)ought From her hill side hut Which smell of smoke Over dry hard ice. She never saw the other number series Only pale mute screams Of exhausted taste. Maids in service Frowned at her For her silence And dry wet eyes. She loved her chief maid, Saya Who brought her lilies And kissed her bruises. Together they swam across The channel of brute night loves They danced, Close together All through the night. Loved in the wild dark backyard When they heard The potbelly lust Panting In another chamber corner. The thick green backyard At the far of end Had a mossy well Shaded with chrysanthemum and Covered with strawberries. The well was insane. Had a legend etched To its thick damp stone walls. It hung all...

Saw it today morning  Staring at me from a newspaper From within the frilled photo frame Of a nineteenth death anniversary. It was dripping along The footpath of an abandoned love You and I didn’t notice The counter was out of service. The old granny roaming at the market place Had it etched In her vegetable stained Crumpled antique fingers. I once saw it In a street corner beauty disguised as her painted lips Lingering along her cream chest wallet. Later it was oozing out Of a mutilated womb In the land of empty cradles and no nonsense walking sticks. It flew to fill the gasp that creek over The hill top old age home compound wall Waiting for a motor turning right from around the pine line It was smashed in between Dry old fingers and window rails. It cries out from the tiny tummy That leans to see a rice grain growing Boiling deep down the empty pot. Carnival rhythms of plain tap water. Again and forever… It’s stitched, darned and bleached over The torn petticoats of lit...

My thoughts seem dizzy I need to talk What all I do not know I feel like keeping quiet But I need to chatter May be silently Oh! But dear I am tired, even to open my mouth. Or, shall I sleep? I need to write I keep missing the papers on which I scrap down Need to think it over again But I feel like sleeping Feeling too tired to think Dull heavy drain brain I need to talk Or let me sleep? Will it be clear over words unspoken? Shall I debate over our locked lips? Or else, My drooping eyes shall speak How will the far of land see it…!! Shall I come over? But I need to sleep Or let me start writing? Am tired Shall I drink something? Oh! The kitchen route is jam packed It’s better to sleep over my dry throat Still should we debate it over? Oh no! Am bored of all such long talks of exhaustion Explaining  understandings and the following annotated conclusions shall I sleep? Am tired. So how shall we talk? Will the silence.. Will the indifference.. Will the sleep Will the fatigue Will the...