The Wounded

A con­sign­ment of robots
With rub­ber souls
And sev­en months pre matures
Tar­nished her liq­uids
And tread­ed her robes
Of white frosts

A Story Retold

Sarosh Azeem: His tears watered the lit­tle sapling
their love had grown
after she had gone
and manured it with
ash­es of mem­o­ries

Escape

For­bid­den was the pro­lif­er­a­tion
Slow and ago­niz­ing will be detox­i­fi­ca­tion
Stop beach-comb­ing to find
when it was the last you smiled
Greet the wait­ing astral diplo­mats
to accom­pa­ny you on your voy­age