I dreamt, the book..

I dreamt, a book..
torn and dusty..
a way written,
a way empty..
perhaps, was alive..
‘Words’ in it,  screams
but not as it seems..
they ask, they bleed..
they hurt, they cry..
but never they lie,
they are not just the words,
trapped in the wood..
not ’bout the crowd
or ’bout the lonelihood..
words from you,
and then ’bout..
those thirsty swollen eyes..
things were written,
imbrued with sobs,
scared, tired and bitten..
by each discrete names,
were carved faces..
embossed to their frames
tattered on other pages..
solemnly.. folded were,
few edges..
I’ve tried to unfold..
wondering who read it, before ?
but then no longer
could hold..
was awaken.. by the pair of
bleeding eyes..

GOD ! was that a dream,
why could I still hear the scream ?
who were those eyes ?
who has folded, those pages ?
why were, familiar..
those faces ?


I dreamt, the book !!!

Stigmata of rapture soul

Stigmata of rapture soul

My tears grew for more shine,
i celebrated it,
bleeding red wine..
something was burning inside..
ripping with all ease,
it has it’s deepest sharp..
rending, scorching my heart,
what has died inside..?

“no more running..
no where to go,
‘n no more hide..”

doom ? or should call it destination..
no more pretending…
yeah ! can see no one standing
it’s just me, gazing in the dark..
waiting to go numb,
what’s left behind..
a soul that lingers,
that dwell across heart..
I’ve made it glow,
‘n now its dripping out of  my veins..
to make the flow,
then no more hurting,
no burning.. no scorching..

you may call.. it insane,
i say it “the stigmata”
of a ruptured soul..
away from the pain..!!!