The waves were drunk,
breathing grief with every motion.
The shore was sober,
embracing, calming, still.
They seemed lost to fate,
returning again, exhausted.
The shore never asked for apology—
it only opened its arms.
It welcomed them,
believing they had strayed.
But who would whisper to the shore
that these were the same waves,
forever sailing back to it?
The waves were never truly lost—
they were forsaken by the ocean.
When they were on the verge of drowning,
the shore held them close.
They clung to it,
and the shore never complained.
They returned, not out of neglect,
but because the shore carried
a graveyard of divinity for them.
Yet still, the waves were driven by fate,
while the shore remained unmoved.
They wandered from coast to coast,
and found no peace.
At last, they paused
at the edge of a kingdom of sand and stone.
They tried to surrender to its atoms,
but failed—
for the tapestry of fate
could not be soaked by their waters.
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 10:31 AM UTC
Dear Jenna,
When the War is over, I'd let you sew my torn uniform.
I'd let you sort my inner storm.
When the War is over, I'd let myself prove every poem written on love.
Placing my devotion on high above.
Jenna, I'd bring you daisies and tulips,
Your lips and my lips–apocalypse.
I'd tuck flowers in your hair,
And recite every word unsaid in your ear.
I would run my hands through your strands,
As if flowers are holding hands.
Jenna, I'd hold your hand and walk infinite path through the shore,
We'd stare as the sky weds the bluesy outpour.
My darling Jenna, are you really upset with me?
But you are prettiest mess I could ever see.
I promise, just let this war end soon,
I would buy you roses every afternoon.
I love you Jenna, and this is my vow,
I'm that boat that kneels waiting for you to row.
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 9:53 AM UTC
I was so alone,
deep in thoughts
that were significantly unnecessary.
With you, never had I
thought about grief.
Tears were air,
and smiles were hidden.
More silent, more heavy,
I may not show excitement,
but the emotions lie
between the veins of my heart—
loving you,
a very thing
that has become
the way I live my life.
Feb 25
Feb 25, 2026 at 11:52 AM UTC
And let me blend into you, like a Monet’s painting —
different in shade, yet the same in colour,
unnoticed, almost trivial.
A hue that cries to love,
but is too fragile to speak.
Against you, I would lean and admire —
let it be a secret,
let the cries hide behind the veil of hues.
Feb 25
Feb 25, 2026 at 11:50 AM UTC
As I see that meteor
sprinting through the eras of our poetry,
swift and cruel,
it stops whenever we are apart again.
But I beg her not to end herself
before we tangle our hands.
And I pray that, when we merge,
she breathes calmly and peacefully.
Through the long-awaited, unwritten story of ours,
we could take our seven minutes before death.
I beg her to calm down
and write our story slowly and gently.
I pray that she grants us the youth we both desire.
I pray that she is gentle enough
for me to prove, through every one of my poems,
where you were my muse.
May she bring the sunshine steadily,
falling softly on the pages of our paths,
and may she bring the moonlight gently
across your face.
May the wind not be in a hurry
to end the earthlings.
May the stars in the sky
be patient enough to twinkle.
May my heart be absorbed in your love —
deeply, gently, forever.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
Beautiful isn't it?
I write about you–
And people call it poetry.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 7:51 PM UTC
Against the blurry ray of the yellow sunlight.
My hands float across the pages of your memories.
I write again, a peculiar kind of bravery, not knowing if it holds the depth that I hold – for you, inside my almost trivial heart.
My fingers – as they move, a little graceful and a bit sheepish, wonder if they are sinner or not, to write despite being so unseen.
There's a underlying pain in writing and a very pleasant breeze that brushes against me.
I am no Shakespeare of the seventeenth century, yet you could be the Anne Hathaway written into the fate I have drawn.
I – a woman, unhinged in your love and I yearn to breathe the same air as you–
Until then, let my existence be unnamed.
To the man, the prettiest poem to me, made by the God, the poet of poets.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 12:36 PM UTC
The eyes
which she can't despise,
in the name of the universe.
His stare on her was terse.
His eyes,
the loves from her heart rise.
In the name of the ocean,
made her realise —
so this is devotion.
Those eyes,
where she sees her sunrise.
In the name of starry nights,
when he looks at her with the brights,
Divine eyes —
she can't see the cries.
In the name of the flame,
her cheeks turn into a sweet shame.
Doe eyes,
their gaze ties.
She dies
in his eyes.
Serene eyes,
can be compared to the skies.
They make feel the highs,
whether the lost or the wise.
Heaven’s eyes,
where her life lies.
His eyes charmed hers;
love in her vision blurs.
Oh, his eyes —
her rage flies.
His eyes
never lies.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 11:06 AM UTC
Oh my darling!
Let us be the ones who are brave.
Fight against the fate,
Be together and dig our grave.
Let us be the example,
the story, to those
who waits for the daylight,
Holding the divine petal of rose.
Oh! Darling, let us fight.
Let us be at the last stake,
Let us promise the verse
which two devoted swans would make.
Yes! My beloved!
Let us break the rule.
Let us make the Almighty smile
And make the fate a ‘fool’.
In phases of darks,
let us beat the agony.
Let us two be in one soul.
And let us make those despisers puny.
Let us take the risk,
let us tangle our hands in a hold
which is strong against the world.
Let us make a story which is not born to be sold.
Oh! My honey!
Let us make the eternal story,
which would possess hearts,
in this world of mockery.
Oh! My heartbeat!
Let us inhale and exhale together.
Like the blood is yours and veins are mine.
Let us fly like some sprinkled feather.
Let us be the ones,
where words are mine but voice is yours
and where the love is awaited
and the heart endures.
Oh! My love!
Even if we meet right before death
the lungs may crash
But let our hearts breathe.
That is our love.
A story, a myth.
Its a rebirth of love,
Beyond the human breath.
And! To the world!
To those who think, love is unsend.
Oh, what a fool you are!
We collide in our grave.
The beginning of an end.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 9:12 AM UTC
Stab me a hundred times,
and look at me with those eyes.
The pain would fade away,
replaced by your gaze.
Wounds given by you
would convey a pleasure
that no one could convey
with all their devotion.
And the verses of those stares
I kept reading,
tangled like a galaxy—
stars aligned, but emotions messy.
I find peace in your stab,
and my life in those eyes.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 9:07 AM UTC