“Darling, do not teach your stars to shine. Teach them how to embrace the darkness.”

I hope my poem touches your soul and tickles your feet. As it is a river, river of my molten heartbeats.

Death is the mercy of life on us.

Let me be a poem freely hung in your diary. Like the moon, on the night sky.

Your eyes looking into mine, this is how two eclipses collide.

He’s shy, he talks to her only. She’s bold, she listens to him only.

She’s never silent, you can always listen her soul speaking the tongue of poetry.

She is handpicked by nature to bleed. Look, how she makes pain bow down and plead.

I wanted peace, they gave me silence.

Once the sky dreamt of kissing the earth and everyone called it horizon.

I hope this pain never eases and these wounds never heal. That’s how you keep lingering in scars, underneath my skin.

Night is a song, moon and sad people can sing along.

Worship her for the way she rolls her sleeves up and hums the silence of healing.

Poetry is an eulogy, sung for hope and love.

Rest your head on his shoulder more often. Earth blushes when a snowflake gently dozes off on it.

A poet is the most beautiful poem, never read out loud by anyone.

When god created woman, he was introspecting himself after falling in love.

On stage, I am in the dark.

I don’t try and be dark, but there are obviously darker emotions that I want to capture sometimes.

I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen when company comes, but I laugh, and eat well, and grow strong.

Crazy isn’t being broken, or swallowing a dark secret. It’s you or me, amplified.

As sure as God made black and white, what’s done in the dark will be brought to the light.

At two o’clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen, You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun. And the trees in the Shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten, And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done.

Everything belonged to him–but that was a trifle. The thing to know was what he belonged to, how many powers of darkness claimed him for their own.

We live in the flicker — may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday.