Memory Ship

Memories

As

Signboards

When

Walk

Run Roll

Towards

Nothing

Everything

And

You

Memories

Keeps you

As old

Newspaper

All irrelevant

Till

Need Them

To wrap

Something

We gain some

We lose some

When

We cross the river

Memories

Tear us

Fold 

To Make

A ship

Memory Ship

Night

Rain

Held its breath

Spread across earth

Hot Lusty Steamy 

Earth

Made love with 

Every drop

Till

The morning

caught fire

butterflies' war

I am being chased by butterflies. The nights are infested with moths, dragonflies and beautiful butterflies. The sleep was like a finely composed photograph. I always love to take photos with some greenery in them. In this frame, there is a branch of a small tree with yellow green leaves, flowers and butterflies and I love them usually. But in here they look absolutely mean, looking straight at my eyes with some sort of a judgment. What are they needed from me? The colors I took them for my poems? The fluttering movements copied or their soul I kept in that crystal pendent, when I was so little? I don’t really know and they are not explaining. They are just there - flying endlessly and aimlessly inside the walls of my sleep, from one branch to another, from one frame to another.

Photocopy

Last night
My son told me, I am your photocopy

Stunned, it was a revelation
A thought, memory

Am I a copy of my father?
His pains, loneliness
Abstract philosophies

He must be a copy too, of
An ancient past
A forlorn town
Words of an old type writer

In time
I merge into him
Giving
My soul

An old pen
A Camera
Some words
A blood type

To my son

Last night
My son told me, I am your photocopy

The
Night was young
When I was awake...

But not anymore…