There’s thin line between hallucinations and consciences, 

I am flowing in melodies of blue eyed women. 

Who said you can’t get immortality…

you drink whiskey and you smoke and you lie in abomination…

You will get immortality there. 

Though infinities never bothered me in my fascist evenings,

but I too get addicted for one romantic whores. 

Stalwarts say don’t give wings to your expressions; but i am giving shapes to them. 

Words are disoriented, senses are in cremation…I am one parrot longing for jasmines. 

Don’t write love poems…rather write something about love… about compassions…about a fermented pimp who makes business out of spiritual daughters. 

When you ride your ragged automobile you can see the nudity of this megalomaniac winds. 

Boundless… insomniac. 

I won’t use myself for my poetries anymore,

I will make love to those who goes through the dictator’s tunnels.

Take me…take me…take me… 

I don’t want a song…I want a caricatures out of lost tunes.

………………………………………………………………..

Photograph: Google. 

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