Infernal or devilish

Diabolic or hellish

Satanic, wicked, evil

The Demon is the Devil

The Prince of darkness

Has all his starkness

Beelzebub or Old Nick

In a shady location
Of dampness and low light
Spore germinates

Let my love be a moss
Let it be able to grow on the rock
Of your stone cold heart
Rather than in the dampness

A Circle

A sphere

Or a planet's orbit

A ring

Or a circlet

Nothing compares

To the line of our love

Enclosing a round plane of our innocence.

Written on May, 2010

Now that I’m in grave
I fancy to lull myself in the cradle
Without any mother
Only me and my fateful soul
With the unadorned slavery
For our own survival
No mortal being I deserve there

If we can leave this world without being dead

What miracles should we attain on earth?

Heart will die before the soul, mind and head

If we can slay our own pleasure of mirth

Alone she sits

Under the branches

Of her own thoughtlessness

Singing a song

About the calmness

Of his weary heart

Before the clouds of care

Darken his little world

A dimensional vice
Has possessed me
The number of unknown qualities
Has been trying
To defeat itself...
But the diffusive force
Tries to abridge the written alphabets

I forgot to sup

Annoyance

From his glass full of

Mingled dread and rage

Now let me take

A small draught of solace

From my own little cup

Full of predicaments !

A lecherous man

Is a blameless mortal being

Whose

Vacuum Soul - made of lust

Melted Heart - made of stone

Clever Tongue - made of sugar

Saint Mind - made of stained glass

The dying yesterday tries to survive

Under the wing of its own despondence

But the joy of today still here alive

With its last vapour of faith to condense

Is there any sane mind

To restore the lunacy?

When insanity smiles

At the little dirt

It’s been carrying

For ages

When every sane mind

Meets the derangement

Somewhere I heard

Of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit

Knowledge, Piety and Power was there

But as I was standing in front of a reflector

I could see none of them

Burn the page

Come and burn the page with me

Pallid page of memoir’s bleeding

Wanly mind’s been tired of reading

Saddest retention from the past

I am a stain of blood on the wall

On the wall in a prison cell

A verdict of soul-slaughter

On the grounds of a provocative swell

I miss that ounce of a holy flesh

Plunged in night- black as raven’s wing

The power of force moved in a curved path

Light dawned upon when he started to sing

And mystery danced in joy of Sabbath