Come closer

I want to run my fingers on you
Like you are a piece of forbidden art
I want to hear you sing
Like it's the last voice I would ever
And while I touch you
I want to see how you reflex
I want to see how you feel
So that I know that you are for real

Undocumented version of a lost tale

This world is always crowded no matter when you board it or from where you board it. But among this crowd are individuals who are just there as unaware of someone’s presence as themselves, unaware of the fact that they are composed of same molecular structure, filled with same emotions that are simple yet utterly complex, distanced by ambitions and brought together by a common sense of fear.

And from these people a stranger would come one day to change your whole idea of happiness and rescue you to a more fragile yet serene world. And that my friend will be when you know you are doomed.

It isn’t surprising to be attracted to someone on the metro or someone in traffic fixing their hair or someone waiting in line to grab their first coffee of the day. What is more surprising is that that people fail to acknowledge their feelings, they pretend that such things are a just a form of lecherousness and are deemed to be thus shameful. But you never know that the person next to you could become the best of your friend or a partner in crime (literally) or your dog’s worst nightmare. You wouldn’t know because you would be too scared to approach or be marked as bothering or ridiculous individual or may even be ridiculed at. The only reason why humans are different from animals is that they have a more refined form of communication. So why not use it? Why not tell that woman that her hairdo is making her face more beautiful? Say things that you mean otherwise don’t say at all. Say good things because our speech has magic in it. It can make someone’s day and there is no greater happiness in seeing someone else happy. If you don’t like something don’t talk about it but if it is bothering you be polite and gentle for humans are impressionable and you do not know what happens to people behind closed doors. There is incredible amount of warmth in a stranger’s kindness and that is the only gift you could possibly give to others.

This is what a state of oblivion is. We have so much to do, most of what we aren’t even sure about and still no time for anything. If only we could see others as tales and untold stories of hate, love, passion, crime and every other emotion; maybe then we would realize how amazing or how terrifying the world is from other’s eyes. Maybe someday. Someday, when we would understand ourselves better and look beyond the comfort of our private zones. Maybe. Someday, maybe.

It's not me, but you

I am not the poet you deserve,

Nor the artist to make such splendid art,

I am not the designer to vintage,

Nor a composer of fine music or craft.

I am a tiny human

Devouring the basics of touch,

I am not kind or noblest of all,

But I am your lover.

If not forever but just now.

I am the passion to make you kiss my lips

And hold me too tight for my taste.

I am that kind of love

To take you through melodies undefined,

Even when you know no sound,

To make you question your existence

Yet savour the underlying lust.

I am that kind of desire,

Where you run recklessly in rain,

Yet not be as wet as you would be,

When you see me naked,

Or when you feel my sultry breath on your skin.

And still I am that kind of care,

When you wake up to me caressing through your hair

And you’d feel no need to wake up

And thus lie deadly bare.

But the funny thing is,

It’s not just me, in fact, it’s all you,

Who could drive me so exotically and erotically crazy.

And thus I sit here, all bare,

With nothing on me but you.