If only these words were wings
they would reach her
but I am only ten thousand ribbons
prattling in air
weaving gold frondescence.

Your questions

You always asked me:
why are your poems short ?
sometimes fractured and incomplete ?
trying to hide improper metaphors ?
concluded on unexpected assertions and sighs ?
trapped in mercurial
changes of emotions ?

You asked me :
why do you paint
flowers of Paris
in your poem, you had distances.
and the forgotten seasons
of Kashmir and Sea ?

I say, my love :
every fractions of you,
can repair me.
I will absorb from you,
the lost words and colors.
And you will see
My verses breath and
draw a rainbow for you ;
a rainbow with no colors
that your eyes know
and a song that you
never heard.
You, can do with me
What my poems could'nt.
and you will not ask again
anything.

feed me
a smiled thought of you
and I'll dance with words
on nights like this,
where bliss is walking
in the warm rain,clothes,
a memory again.

as if they weathered each other
windblown yet steadied
hand in hand.

enrapt in dense mass of us
where grass keeps growing
sans weed
singing all the time.

enrapt in dense mass of us
where grass keeps growing
sans weed
singing all the time

Trees and flowers
Never argue
With their seasons.