Help Me

Help me with the words.
They are like riddles that I cannot decipher.
Even at the times when I start feeling coherent
They effuse through my lips uncontrolled.
So, help me with the words and give me some room,
To undo them and rebuild again and again.
Like a mound of clay too ambitious
To resemble your face and emulate your smile.
Help me with my poetry, when I am alone,
When my dreams from a distance seem futile.

Oblivion

I used to say if you die for me
I would cover my grief with a graceful solemnity.
And even if you return to hold me again
I shall not break the harmony of sorrow.
It might sound like too much of thinking
And too much of poetry far from the truth
But poetry can share sufferings unlike many
The healing is delayed, deliberately, for good.
And now that you are dead for me,
I have set my words free, so that they are understood.

The cover of my bro's poetry book.