Sanober Khan

everything that is scatteredcomes together in wordseverything that is lostcomes back in poetry.

Your words... I hold them deeplike ancient skinshold wrinkles.

poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.

I write because there are things in me that cannot die.

What you are trying to let go of...is already gone.

how can i everbreathe normally againafter having been cradledby the kind of sorrowso silent, that it nourishesafter having been sweptby the kind of joyso absolute, that it wounds.

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

i am infinitely yearningbrimmingand overflowingin wordsi discoverit__ another wayfor meto be in tears.

all the wordsall the poems know my warm, soft spots.

i am eithera stormor a drought.in-betweenshave neverbeen my thing.

how is it thathe's alwaysin my thoughts. even when i am not thinking.

kisses... areand always will be the only language that I will have ever truly known.

Turn your fears into excitement.Your anxieties into enthusiasm. Your passion into energy.

You askif I will write a poemI could,I supposewrite the mostsplendiferousone of allbut notrightnownot whenyour handsare brewingwarmcinnamon teaacross my skinnot when I__trying to imaginewhat might happenif you beganfloweringkissesuponmeMy dear,how canI writea poemwhen I__ alreadyinside one?

believe me when i say this.when you lovesomeone.you can travel the worldin their laugh.

The world is thinningand the earth...it's still spinningmy world is thinningand it__ all because of one person I__ missing.

May youalways haveopenbreezy spacesin your mind.

we always knewthat good times camewith termination contractseven if we weren't quite readyto sign it.