Beauty is the flaming tip of dying stars
The brightest star in the sky died a million years, before
I versify your beauty as a flaming tip of the dying stars.
When I’m ratifying you
I endorse your death too.
An insurance broker follows me in office for his next promotion
A salesman follows me to the market for the promotion.
The surveyor follows me in the house to collect my confidentiality
A covetous profit-maker follows me so that I sell my patrimonial.
An investigator follows me to be sure that I am not a terrorist
The notorious corporate boss follows me to clear his doubt that
I’m not an eavesdropper, and
an aimless dog follows me in the street to attract my attention.
I’m always follows you, but…
for God’s sake, I don’t know why!
When you walk along in the rose garden and
pick the flower to smell…
I worried to ponder that
you pluck your own smell sans the reason.
The hijacker stabbed me before hijack the wallet,
because, it was empty.
He does not know yet
I lost everything to listen that, …
Your valued purse hijacked by the
greatest life-hunter of earth.
I remembered the glorious day,
when you asked to me,
“What is love?”
Your eyes were enlightened,
and you asked me about love…
I replied in a glacial tone
“Love is a death siren honey,
always stick around your head like
the rotten fly-blown”.
Last night I met the dervish in his shrine, and
he asked to me,
“Tell me who are you?”
I repeated his hyperbolic question:
“Tell me who you are…”
The dervish slaps me and asked again
“Lazy crap, tell me, what are you and
what for you are?”
I promptly replied:
“Am for rotten love”.
An invisible photographer photographed you when
I imagine your destiny.
An invincible director directed you when
I am reckoning your fateful footstep.
An inevitable dramatist dramatized you when
I point my finger to your tribulation, and, …
An indomitable killer killed you when
I count your vermilion beauty in a deadly silent photograph.
Photograph is silent but it can talk.
You are merriment and love to talk a lot, nonetheless
the silent photograph talks more about you silently.
In our flattering days in God’s garden
you told me to take your photograph.
I told you,
“Photograph is more complicated than the flattery
it’s a cursive memory to memorize our erosion.”
The golden line of love is to memorize you,
better than to remain beside you.
An orphan boy was weeping in the lane…
You wanted to know why he is crying and
asked him about the reason…
The weeping boy replied,
“I’m weeping to see you by my side”