Prophecy

You are the prophecy,
Of a seer,
I realized that,
The first time we met,
Can’t you see that in,
The desire of your smile,
To be on cloud nine,
The desire of your eyes,
To shine bright,
The desire of your beauty,
To be gazed,
The desire of your body,
To be caressed,
The yearning of your soul,
To flow like a river,
And to be profound,
The desire of your sweet odour,
To mix in my blood,
And the desire of your mind,
To rule my heart.

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Dreams of a lovesick heart 

I often dream of paradise lost,

Of my innocence frolicking in dust,

That stupid fighting over stolen lunches,

And residential school mafia backbenchers,

Of teenage infatuation and romances, 

Which make me go in deep trances.


I often dream of prophetic dreams,

Of treachery of fickle minded pears,

And their eyes crying crocodile tears,

Of serpents in my lovely courtyard, 

That make my life treacherously hard,

Which make me feel completely isolated.


I often dream of mundane phenomenon,

Of messages lost in complex interpretation,

That make me aware of things hidden,

Under the dirt of my worldly education,

Buried deep in my nether regions,

Which make me feel highly maudlin (homesick).


I often dream of ethereal deities,

Of luxury of their sensorial beauties,

And find myself amidst musical melodies,

That play the desires of my lovesick heart,

And my soul’s longing for my beloved,

Which make me feel tragically composed.