I’m Picasso if you asked colour of my eye
In séance I only speak Greek; come hither
Only if your soul has ears
I’m a Pharaoh and accept only sons for supper
...
In concupiscence
frugality must be forbidden
for sons are then sent
as junk mail in ugly unsightly crates
...
Do you burn incense? ?
Do you like the willowy tendrils of aroma
caressing your lithe body..
today when I smelt lavender
...
when did madness of my eyes
melted to a quiver …. fell off my lips
when did your longing
...
I think you are almost done
this almonry that’s me
and charity that’s you
tremors of hunger to receive
...
Shall I say that silence has outnumbered
has overwhelmed by million hectares
all other possibilities birthed in spring
Nike’s swoosh muffled, dervishes whirl quiet
...
Feel like a butterfly; mostly
half finished
still clinging to the
umbilical cord of the Palette
...
In saline silence
with lisp-the only eloquence
turned I the rosary of breathlessness
and through cracked, soiled and unsightly
...
[In Memoriam of Islamabad Tragedy]
In a typeset that just shrieked “40”
there were other boring stats about
...
[Inspired by Christine Austin Cole’s “Body of Works” ]
I’ve changed my minuses to plusses
I’ve transcended to other side of equation
...