Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.

Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.
Feathers lie in the cold, it tell stories of life before.

Saturday, May 9, 2015


O, what psyche involved?
heroine’s gait fumbles weak, on dried  stubbles and break
whose age just left crackling dry against the green
field of sorrows when born
where birds at first tweeted initial lullaby s
and shoot in the tree follows, plays with wind
and times keep topping each other
on time; the sensual bee lost its flight
comes buzzing over honey-scented bud
once sang with sweet lullaby s.
Whoa, whoa what a surprise
days and nights tryst fruit, replicate
more as if the power of ten or twenty
exists in "the time keeps topping each other
and the bee lost its flight."

Trudge along the parch thread
after clock’s buzzed or bricking strings gone
after ringings faded from car’s smoking ass
here the sun gone to sleep
when only dreaming moon and singing stars
see the heavy steps of plastics and leatherette s
swim onto standing match box securing the hole
there, shadow walks slowly on the broken tiles
wields a decanter full of sweet white wine
in the room cuddles…singing honeyed lullaby.

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