Tuesday, 28 February 2012


I am not one of them
Who can leave anything on blank dream,
And move on with no angel in the stream
And that makes me painful in living,
As if the load of loving numbers is not diminished,
And I feel someone makes mockery of my dreams.

I am not one of them
Who can blend numbers to leave sensible liquids,
That is the source of pasteurization on the living,
By scales of love, and then pronounce they are busy,
Leaving me in haunting for someone to reside
In my love senses, and make me high upon thighs.

I am not one of them
Who cause things be grinded in machines,
If anyone tries to approach beyond choices
For that which someone desire to have with.
And living thus I am molding me around dreams,
Yet to receive calls from distance, it is bacterial spirit.

I am not one of them
Who are common in forming disguise in seconds,
And travel in motion of clouds of darkness at ease
From where they can jump upon the choice gains,
That they want in mind and body to feel the charm
Viable to counting the loving load that they learn to swim.

I am not one of them
Who can ignore the glance of my loving eyes, and
Can travel with the sources dense with loving organisms,
And they think it as richly graced passing in togetherness.
I am the exception to live not in tandem with these scenes,
As I learn to be quiet with promises, sacrifices, and offerings.  

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