Fingernail drawing a slit
through an overripe moon
the juice of its light
dripping celestial body
across the little-
black dress of night.
Look at my blood flowers, because I write with a serene sharp blade that soothes. as much as cuts into the deepest parts of my soul.
Me
- Basit
- Calicut, Kerala, India
- Son, Mallu, Expeditionist, Whimsical Blogger, Pseudo Poet, Haiku thirst, Literaly anti-literal, Foodie, Coffee & PinkFloyd addict. floating bewilderedly through space-time continuum !
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Look at my blood flowers because I write with a serene sharp blade that soothes as much as cuts into the deepest parts of my soul.
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This morning, I listen to this blood breathing peace, in these veins— I wear prayers.
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Those times I heard the echo Long before the sound .
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- There's no sanctuary for the shadows, when you g...
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- enrapt in dense mass of us where grass keeps gro...
- Trees and flowers Never argue With their seasons.
- Triplet weave, sleeve pages turning wheels, I deal...
- Read to me from your favorite book. Lean in close;...
- Write a poem a day, then more. Turn my guts inside...
- why do I abide in the throes of love, whether weat...
- Fingernail drawing a slit through an overripe moon...
- The weeping in the hollows Struck a tune. Fit for ...
- some flowers never tell you their names. (you ju...
- The soul always remembers what the mind tries to...
- Parallel trains of conversation, parallel trains o...
- Flares of Love emanate from a loving Heart. render...
- When Who spoke to What, When became active and en...
- Her book of empy pages wrote itself on the altar o...
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Blog Archive
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▼
2012
(117)
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▼
April
(22)
- Ju
- There's no sanctuary for the shadows, when you g...
- I wish I could whistle that magic tune If you and ...
- burden of silence on eyelashes.
- If only these words were wings they would reach h...
- Your questions
- feed me a smiled thought of you and I'll dance w...
- as if they weathered each other windblown yet stea...
- enrapt in dense mass of us where grass keeps gro...
- Trees and flowers Never argue With their seasons.
- Triplet weave, sleeve pages turning wheels, I deal...
- Read to me from your favorite book. Lean in close;...
- Write a poem a day, then more. Turn my guts inside...
- why do I abide in the throes of love, whether weat...
- Fingernail drawing a slit through an overripe moon...
- The weeping in the hollows Struck a tune. Fit for ...
- some flowers never tell you their names. (you ju...
- The soul always remembers what the mind tries to...
- Parallel trains of conversation, parallel trains o...
- Flares of Love emanate from a loving Heart. render...
- When Who spoke to What, When became active and en...
- Her book of empy pages wrote itself on the altar o...
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▼
April
(22)
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- Trail of stains (2)
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