From a mannequin

My hands: put them back,Where they always used to be,Bend me in my waist, rest myEyes over at thee. Wrap me in your merchandise,Put me by the door,Staring at the desolate,I beseech, entreat, implore. Lift chin with your hands bare,Keep my poise at rest,Move my body, tear me down,And leave me to protest. Detach me…

Sandcastles

Glinting a shade of amber,On the boundary of gold,Eyes fixate at summer rays,The last ones bright and bold. Feet dig deep in golden ground,Hands carve onto sand,The wind whistles in ears both,And drops dead to the land. The summer sun will always set,The wind will always die,Does not mean winter will not,For it always passes…

A Confession in a Tanka

Exhilarating, That day, when I stabbed the sky, The world slept in peace, The horizon bled to dawn, And I killed, ruthlessly, the night.

The grainy monochromatic photograph

A fading red heart on a Dusty cover page of an Album bound with memories of People holding hands, and of Eyes perhaps happier than Those staring at them, because Sepia tones and tattered corners, Black and white and worn out borders, have eyes that smiled at each other, not Those that smiled at cameras,…