Do I make sense?
I’m speaking but
Can you hear me?

It seems like I’m speaking silence
I suppose I am since, wait--
Do I make sense?

My words are easily misinterpreted
Even now, you’re listening but
Can you hear me?

Tangled tangents taken
From the context of my mind
Do I make sense?

I don’t. Of course the sound waves are reaching you
Still, I have to ask again to be sure
Can you hear me?

L’appel du vide is all I hear
I want to know you’re not the same
Do I make sense?
Can you hear me?

Life is like a doodle,
        you may not see the
                               picture.

But to the one that
                    scribbled it,
it makes perfect sense..

I love you as the waves striking
I love you as the wide sun appearing
I love you as the nearest heart pulsing

I love you when the moon Is fully appearing
I love you when the sun Is warming
I love you when the raIn Is ascending

when the butterflies are dancing
on the melody of flowers those are painting
of photo that Is made of colors and smell making

eyes are not going away of any scene
you make my feeling at high and so sense
you show me how I can love all the world

and try to be honest and get the space achieved

I like how,
every now and then,
my poems make no sense.

I start them
with hope and direction,
almost like a vector.
They have weight
when still unsung,
their force unspoken,
their miracle undone.

But soon,
my mind starts to mumble,
to modulate,
the vector falls apart,
my idea of the poem crumbles,
what I meant to say
is twisted,
not really a poem anymore,
but yet
so beautifull.

i hate that
you can't be a poet
you have no sense
you're miserable
cold
and mad

Proprioception
Is the perception
Of your hand when it is out of view.
My proprioception
Is tuned to perfection
And I hope that the same's true for you!

Although I can't see
My hand behind me
I can give all my fingers a wiggle;
It may not seem much
Very different to touch,
But with touch someone lets out a giggle!

Reason holds sense,
Reason holds knowledge
And dignity.
Reason protects,
Reason defends,
And I am left empty but with no wounds to mend.

Love holds me softly,
With delicate caresses to my skin.
Love holds warmth
And hope.
Love is passion,
Love is warmth,
But love burns.

You brush my skin with your own
And my thoughts lose all sense
And my insides are set alight.

Be it a dead silent dark night,
With the clock counting dead hour.

Or a walk through a chaotic lane
With the people busy in chitter-chatter.

My thoughts have completely been absorbed
By the warmth, and everything that is him.

My mind has gone wild.
It doesn't stop dreaming and thinking.

I wish I could post my senses to an eternal rest
Because it's beautiful and exhausting.
Gleeful and yet hurting.