“In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.”

Give everything some time; pain hasn’t learn to walk yet.

Somedays depression is tender, as though hurting is just an art; and that maybe she didn’t break me more than enough!

Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.

Perhaps I mistook the pain with work in progress.

When I say I love you, I mean something raw something below the surface of all waters; something almost too naked and true!

Like her name, some people are best left scrouged on the skin.

I’ve been quiet most of today. By which I mean I can see myself in the mirror; And believe me it is something hard to look at these days.

I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.

In the end the salt calls the ocean home; and I guess this is why drowning has always been a part of loving you.

I guess this has been my confusion; where I went wrong. Thinking that love could possibly come as a thing without the burns.

To me there was only ever you!

I knew you would leave someday; And from there a poet will be born from the ashes.

Love is a job doer and a man slayer. Both equally efficient, until the taste of it is most felt on the cold side of the ribs.

There’s not much I know about forgetting. By which I mean I can hear her name from a distance; and it still breathes cold in my chest.

Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.

I’m a drunk poet; and I guess maybe I sipped too much of what I couldn’t buy of her.

Heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives! You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace.

A new dynasty is never founded without a struggle. Blood makes good manure.

She was mother not only to me but to the whole nation. She served the Indian people to the last drop of her blood.

If I’m selling, I want them all selling in the audience. If I’m coming back, I want them all coming back. If I’m bleeding, I want them bleeding. If I win, they win. If I lose, they lose.

Wars are sometimes waged to extend trade-the blood of many being shed to enrich a few.

It is terrifying to wonder whether that person you love is a walking red flag or a white flag of surrender dipped in your own blood.

Women like me bleed on command.

I thought of how many places there are in the world that belong in this way to someone, who has it in his blood beyond anyone else’s understanding.