Years from now when I think of you,
I will recall how you gave me wings,
And then - weighed me down…
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 5:50 PM UTC
You’re just potent enough to be harmful.
And I’m an addict of love and other drugs.
When you, who has shredded my heart,
Are no longer the object of its desire,
I will fondly recall all the sweet damage-
I inflicted upon myself in your name.
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 5:49 PM UTC
Should it be a pitiful thing,
To engage in small talk,
Holding your attention-
Even a fleeting moment,
I shall profess frivolous facts,
Endlessly discuss the weather,
And do other pathetic things—
With such untroubled ease!
My pettiness is remorseless,
In hoping to hold you one day.
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 5:46 PM UTC
Keep me to yourself like a secret,
As silence keeps forgotten songs.
Hold me in your heart for nothing,
Like blades of grass hold dewdrops.
Arrange the colors I throw at you,
In the neat outlines of your days.
Surely keep all the scribbles I write,
In a memory jar made of glass.
Years from now when we’re strangers,
And life’s lacklustre lay bare at your feet-
Visit me in thought and say a few words,
For I would be spent and all but lost.
But as long as you think fondly of me,
I’ll yet again be found exactly—
As you’d left me in your memories.
And these are for you — from me,
To remember…
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 5:40 PM UTC
The doldrums of these midnight hours-
Like the receding waves at the beach,
Remind me of my evanescing youth.
I suppose,
There is profundity in waves,
That undulate in deeper oceans-
Than those that gnaw away at the shore.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
For the mendicant of thoughts,
Sleep is a virtuous incentive.
For the explorers of thoughts,
It is simply a cursed routine.
It is not a surprise why the hungry,
Seldom bother how the food is cooked-
Or why the chef's palate is insatiable.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 4:50 PM UTC
Now, I am a book going to print.
I write myself as myself I read.
My work weaves my days as pages,
And events therein, the bookmarks.
Come tomorrow's day thither-
Some words closer to the ******
I shall think of past days' ink,
That lay dry in gross memory,
And wish some days ebbed-
And some others, rewritten.
If the final page comes forward,
Unbeknownst to me then-
I shall live by the little legacy,
In the journals of the reader.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 4:29 AM UTC
Your genteel keenness to deny me my identity,
Has impelled a lenient amnesia in me.
Pray, allow me to be rediscovered-
In the dark luster of your eyes,
And in the plush depths of your thoughts.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 4:21 AM UTC
The gentle high of the ****** Mary,
Makes midnight's breeze seem like Jazz.
A mere glimpse of your opulent eyes,
Hammers me like tequila on ice.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 3:40 PM UTC
We covet the nature of things,
Like dreams knocking at reality.
As adults in some offices pause-
To mourn over their own death.
An equanimous person squats,
At the shores of flowing thought-
Seemingly free and perennial,
And asks,
What if rivers are forced to flow-
And the drops that don't comply,
Are imprisoned in ponds by rain?
-Ajey.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC