tiny shrubs at your feet

 fences climbed, kingdoms won

heart still racing, feet as warm as the sun

the fog in the eye

the canvas that could be painted upon

all the plans that I pry (open)

could be a blasted cannon

so pace slow

and look down

enjoy the tiny shrubs

let the distant river flow

lay the present moment on your crown

be careful ; it could be a gift or a boulder to tow

crackle of fire

 the blink of an eye

drew me in

but the speech 

was for a different ear

the dust on the book called me in

but the specificity

threw me off

and then I just laid down

watching the fire crackle

speaking from the times of caves

to the times of the phone being a cave

afloat

 tenterhooks left me atop a wall

no other furniture 

high and dry but cosy

reflections of words

yet longing for wings

wings that keep me afloat

soaring into the sky

means planes, eagles

but just afloat is warm

beauty

scrambling tenors of life

plucking out ladders

but its a mold of its own

graffiti it is 

not landscapes

but beauty lies in my fingers

behold the ugly if you see so

the Lisa

 mentioning any inches of gloss

pinches my vanilla vanity

and asks for shuttered windows

but stepping into the sunlight

only and when

 there is a tray of words to serve

no graffiti no doodles

only when there is the Lisa

I will let my car swerve back on

touching the horizon

 fences I run through

maybe larger than me

but the feet aren't daunted

they leap, run forward

till the horizon can be touched

if it is still further away

I shall run on

collecting memories 

of all corners, people, and trees

that doesn't let me stop

falling

 scaling up walls of ice

with trembling ropes

yet falls from every extra inch

pinches out the blur of the destination

and the rope is ready

for going up

till the wall is behind me

horizon

 fending smiling eagles

swooping down to pinch

ounces of life

the skin of dreams

and the running keeps getting rocks

stumbles onto mud

yet getting up is fascinating

with a glint of an eagle-free horizon

ropes of oil

 whats broken

i picked up to fix

but was it my mind

and the edges ran sharper

a steeper slope to climb

ropes of oil

yet light seeped in

and I could see stairs

swimming in a flood

 obfuscations of borders

they barge in

manic meditations in corners

and they pull down windows

running running

it's a stony road

trippings and blood

could be swimming in a flood

yet they would fish me out

hands

 suspended beliefs

as the grass bereaved

floods snuggled and tugged

spinning was just racing through

but it was just my hands

i was sitting

yet the vortex coiled in my fingers

over again

 teeth in skin

spilled crimson

with a smile

forever done for

but past the threshold

more jaws gnawed

and running was an option

yet again a hand 

pulled back to my victory

and start over again

biting through for breaths

lifting opacity

 splinters from fire

flicker in nerves

and the chair scrapes

with ropes that I walked into

by choice

regret piles on 

but choices weren't transparent

yet the opacity could have been lifted

warmth

 walls and a roof

was everything to run from

if the sun could be warm

meals could be traded for bread

if the sleep had peace

bed does not bring dreams

being closer and serenity does

snapped

 white canvas

streaks of trembles

hurried strokes

yet stitched lines

you can see the eyelashes

pupil

lips

but only half

as the fingers lay in a pool of blood

as chaos snapped out

veins ran for their lives

beauty lay under the ground

joys

 etchings fade away

only joys stay

eyes and lips are painted on

but the voices betray

or elsewhere

the eyes have given way

for a dozen lines of wisdom

fiction

 staggered breaths

stony bouquets caging you

and the fall is edging fatality

if only chaos could be in flipping pages

for decades, dust and cobwebs kept me company

but satiation came only in spoonfuls

and thus here I am

with no fiction coming for this damsel

dew among sand

 rodomontading monologues

pinch that pavement esteem

yet sullen windows to the street

footsteps that never threshold to greet

all the polite sugar falls away from this twig

smudged, faded dreams carry of to perennial sleep

the tap though with its queue

is dew among the sand

trashcan lotuses also happen to be a magic wand 

tight

 lullaby to dreams

steel around the seams

doors that shut tight

never to swing open

creaks of chaos

paints with talons

the sky that is grey

with dabs of crimson

lotus in the staple sky

 staple monochrome skies

flutter on my eyes

nobody lifts the curtain

yet a moment would do

all nerves are steel

dreams snuffed out

for delegated ambitions

yet a moment would do

to see a feather on the barely there lotus

i would pull it out in bloom

if you do

on the face

 sangfroid reached

on the face

but racing nerves

veins with a vortex

not a shred on the face

taped lips

taped eyes

chair turns skin snow

yet life's chaos drums on

while  keeping the knots

self

 stencilled etchings

borrowed beauty

readings and sprayings

a thing of beauty

joy on simple pupils

fame might come over

yet self soars higher

even if for the seeker only

stairs of stagnancy

 tarnished are elevators

for the feet seeking stairs

ambition is a whirlpool

extracting all breaths

floating is peaceful

stagnancy is deep

peaks are lonely

and the middle is romantic

twice

 somber meanings

linger on curved lips

as mayhem rests at the threshold

and unease perfumes air

lightning strikes twice

burns down lives

as the door got stuck

with embellishments of celebration

wars

 telephone cords

mangled up

cut up

as tremblings 

fears etch tattoos

dreary becomes a footstep

solace would be sleep

but eyes have been shut

yet as wars for hope

rumble on

memoirs

 tracing memoirs

for rungs of footing

yet the pain draws me in

pulling down curtains 

and often leaving the treasure

at the threshold of dried ink

a page unopened

with my fingers still tracing

chaos

amid seemingly serene words

inkblots

 trappings of dead tapestries

loosening yet familiarity

rushes in veins

and the door seems unhinged

swinging only to shut

and any blink of light

is a dawn saying 

mindless days will fly away

but with a faded inkblot postscript

prying open clouds of darkness

for hope 

keeps the floor firm

amid the unravelling smithereens