Inside the tomb,
You're my words and I am your poetries;
You are this body and I am attachments;
You're that aroma and I am those memories;
You, that lovely dark death and I am salvation.

Inside the tomb,
I am you and you're me..

In a lonely winter evening, when you're not around, the breeze breaks into that little space of numbness in me.
Your memories allure me to go after the aromatic dusk, drop a few pebbles into the pond & to silently watch over the ripples ruffling and setting ashore.
In a lonely winter evening, when you're not around, my eyes look for the missing palettes of the ebon-arch horizon over the golden paddy fields, railing the shadows of the tinctured clouds neath the argent moon.
In a lonely winter evening, when you're not around, I wander before the eternal euphony of the enigmatic flute coming from the distant mound. The perfumes of the jasmine from the woods beguiles me of you.

In a lonely winter evening, when you're not around, the night offers me of oddments dark. I close my eyes, folded palpebras drape me in.

I dream of a 'formless existence' of non-dimensional measures...

(Year-2008
Place-a remote village in the foothills of a mountain.
Time-a lonely winter evening.)

Write for yourself. Write for the solitude that has been accommodating you since eons. Write for those nights when you were awake. Write for the 'nothings', that often widened your lips when nobody was around. Write for the one, who loved you. Write for the one, who betrayed you too. Write for a friend. Write for a foe. Write for someone, who doesn't even know, whom you are writing it for. Write for the marigolds. Write for the dew drops. Write for innocence. Write for love. Sometimes, do write without a purpose.

Maybe you don't know who is reading you, but it's possible that someone is reading you, thinking about you and laughing all alone and whispering silently, "This guy is insane, maybe a little or more like me"..

V@@S...

I know you won't read this. I know, you won't even know that I have written this for you neither I will let you know too.
See these stubborn words! They keep me awake whole night, murmur in my ear and enhance the density of my loneliness.

You don't write much these days, neither do I. But in common, we believe that Poetries are colourless with a purpose and tonight, I prefer solitude over love.

V@@S..

Poetry

The night was wild.
They both, buried a little silence each
from the unread pages,
where, poetry was an offspring
of the abandoned words..

Sometimes, the answers you get are not the answers you want!

She: Who are you?
He: I am energy!

And she opened the door.