Burning

Burning with disdain
For every refrain.

I would put a tune
To my every sand dune.

The world's a crazy place.
For someone of my race.

Wouldn't know what to do.
I am all around you.

Would I go replace
A face for your face

And then would you be sad
At my action mad.

I am gaining ground
Within my own self

This is not a game
Not a part of shame

Why is that I burn
Isn't it now your turn?

Rambling

I am rambling like thunder underneath the sky.

Precariously thin line of sanity and insanity?
That is what someone says.

Now. I can feel myself calming down.
Coming down.
Coming down.

Love or whatever

I want to write vehemently and cry vehemently.
With all the strength that is left of me..
For this mad rush inside my mind kills me..there is no clarity of thoughts.

If you see all those wandering within the white washed walls..rambling to themselves?
Well I could be very well one of them..

When the clouds of this madness clears a little bit.
I would break into a zillion pieces of sunshine.. I promise..

Paulo 3

When I was very young, I wore really short skirts
And my tops were hot.
I wrapped around me, all my vanity,
But inside there was turmoil, all insanity.
No would notice it and they still don't do.
There's no difference..whatsoever now and then..

Tip of my nose

I am so happy today!
Despite the fact that all I can think and feel- very very prominently is the tip of my nose.
Ahem..its so much more better than talking about my burning cheeks- which sound like something out of a soap..Mills n Boons..horrible.
Ugggh!
Thankfully its the tip of my nose that joined the burning brigade.. and I used it like the tip of an iceberg :)

Paulo

Paulo.. I declare my war on you today..
Lets make this a game..
Am gonna meet you at this. And beat you at this.

The tip of my nose is burning..n i would wanna stop it- its caught on the fire from my cheeks.
If I write and I write and I write..it would perhaps help me to soothe it.
Even though its not better than the kisses that could land in an attempt to cool it, but it would not be a feeble attempt or the wrong treatment.
How can I pretend that I don't know it? It is shame. deep shame..and I wanna soothe it.So I would write till it goes and then write some more and then write some more.
And I come back to my senses and focus strongly at you and beat you.

Love and you

How far are you willing to go for love?

Would you be willing to give it another shot?

Simplicity

I just found out that most of my clearest thoughts have their base in simplicity.
It's so nice to know this.
As clear and clean as the blue sky.
Moments - but yet they are- and that's the beauty of it. Knowing that it's possible.
Regenerating-or it might not have been decayed after all.
Crush the old petals and the hue catches on to the tips of your fingers..
Red it is..for is'nt it the colour of the first life? Or the promise of it?
There is actually a smell that sticks to this one.
At times I find it overbearing-but then I twitch up my nose and breathe it deep in.
For this is it. Wonder if it's the same when it takes away a lot of hope and all the joy with it.
Can't be. Or May be. I have absolutely NO idea on this one.

Inspired

I am inspired by a pint sized atom..as if I was huge...but am older definitely..and he is so young..
don't know what's happened to me-am scared so very much..always..even to write..fearing what people might construe..
Fuck them.
No one cares and the same here with me. Its a little pep talk I give myself sometimes.
Coming back to inspiration. Most of my life has been spent in pleasing people or so I think, when people mostly think it the other way-hard nut to crack- no matter how much you try-this pint sized pretty bitch won't break.won't die..just won't get out of our damn sights and scorched thoughts.
So much for digressing.. and transgressing.
Back to inspiration.
There is an image of a brash , tortured, confused, angry, powerhouse of talent and immense possibilities infront of me.
I like what I see.
There the gambling spirit soars in me. I can very well knaw at my hand trying to guess what it would be? Would he? Wouldn't he?
I was in a museum once- out of extreme curiousity- and was completely blown out of my mind.
It was of Pablo Picasso- it felt like I was in a child's world- there was nothing that man didn't do-paint, create- that he wanted to do. It was on hindshight like watching my six year old son's work. It was fabulous.Simply beyond words.
Now. Would he? Wouldn't he?
I know. He would. And I would win.
Blown out of my mind. Again.Second time in this lifetime.
I am knawing at my hand again.
What about the third time? Would the (!)little one surprise me?
An extremely queer , extraordinarily placed life of the magnificent hattricks.