Short poems

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Like dreams
Poetry is born
Out of indigestion.
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Her voice was music;
her lips were tonic
and she was toxic.
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The greatest crime
is to live;

The greatest punishment
is being alive.
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Desire for adventures
My bed-sheet;
I rest.
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I envy
Every child
With a bag
full of books.
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Internal memory
got corrupted;
erase the past.
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Dragonflies
caught behind lenses;
houseflies look up to.
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Web of lies.
Like a spider I wait.
Night and mosquitoes are twin.
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The moment I lower the book,
sun rays pierce my eyes.

Reading books life long
to avoid His gaze.
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The smallest poem ever
has to be
her name.
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Box full of books.
My master;
let me sleep.
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Heavy thoughts
humid air
suffering soul.

Sleepy conscience
mediocre morality
unfathomed  restraints.
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Prayers
kept on burning stove
to please the body.
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(Random thoughts during 2011)