Desert Dweller


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I seek out desert

Maybe that’s why I’m always thirsty

I’ve become adaptable

Like a lizard living under a rock

I no longer waste my tears

I no longer find myself wandering through unsteady sands

Yet here I am

Contemplating gently in place

Like a snake

My next strike will be purposely executed

We Called It Love


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The thing we called love

Was but a fleeting thought

A mere whim that we should have slain

The moment it was excreted – bleeding – from the womb

It was born nonetheless

Starved of breath like a candle’s dying light

Prolonged too long

Taking us two as its victims in its villainous ventures

And we called it love.



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Monotony – to me – is a prison of mediocrity

Only a change in the stasis, creation of static, sets me free

Sometimes creating chaos, I never mind – it’s movement all the same

It takes me up, it takes me down, it’s an unpredictable game

That’s the guarantee

And that’s the irony

Stepping Out of the Metaphor


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Stepping out of the metaphor

The bonds of cliché had become a cliché

I was waiting for newness to bang on my door

Sometimes it knocks and then walks away

So I set a trap but she’s ever so elusive

Another dimensional me

I can see but it can never be

She’s teasing and taunting, leaving scraps and then flaunting

Tangling me in every attempt to break free

I want to make something of novelty

The more I think the less I’m free

She’s the metaphor, she’s the cruelest cliché

And again with a grin

With a win

She’s captured me