Why does every other poem is about love ?
Why it has to be a shared experience ?

Why does every other poet try to make it unique
Some of them, connect it to moon,
Some call themselves a Freak?
Why is it so different for everyone else?
For some it's an admire,
For some it's the beauty
Some feel connected
Some mark it as duty ,
Some see oceans in eyes
Others feel ocean while staring
And for some is the comfort
And others it's the safety
Some say it is compatibility
Others say it comes naturally
Or they feel it altogether
Or say they feel ever lively ?

(Like they are loving
Like no one loved
More than romeo
More than anyone )

sometimes
They show they don't need
the validation -
What the world feels
Even their love is a simple
Expression.

Why love is loved by everyone?

For Someone who is lost
In the love of anyone.

And still I wonder - why every poem is about love ?

Stand
Sit,
Slouch
Fall.

Stand
Fall
And
Sleep
All

Feel
Touch
&
Stand
Tall,

Skipped
Sit
To
Eat
All.

Breathe
Deep
To
Watch
Walls

Stand
Climb
Stairs
Then,

Sit
Sleep
Feel
Stare
Skyfalls.

So
Just,
Stand
Sit
Eat
Sleep-
and fall.

They whisper something in my ears,
Like they are crying.

It blows through my body,
Making random stops—
Up to my ears.

Then all of a sudden,
To the middle of my rooftop,
Inclined on one of its pillars,
They pierce like jets
Through my earphones.

They whisper that they are blissed,
Maybe they laughed—
Out swished.

Zuuuunn nn mm nm n n,
Fhhz zunnnnnn...

Slowly, they whisper—
Like they are fine.
And when they make me look
At the stars,
They scream out softly.

So softly,
Like they whisper in my head.
From my hairs,
They pat them gently,
Whispering:
"You are okay."

And it blows all through my body,
Making stops more frequent,
Blowing faster and faster—

But still,
They whisper slowly.

Zuuuuuunn,
Swish~
And maybe,
They are not just crying.

Once upon a time
a father with his belt –
(with black shiny paint
and a steel which is melt)

And a son, a pen in his hand
A book by his side
A lamp blowing light
Tears in his eyes
The fear in his veins
With his wimped tiny mole

(A cry in his neck and
a gulp in his bones)

Whimp whimp strikes the ground
Wipes the tears,picks up his pen
Shakes up his head,
Gives him a cloth,
to blow up his nose

(A smile on the boy's face
The fallen tear on the page's lace
It dried his shake on hand and
moved him a pace)

Whimp, whimp, whimp – strikes again
(A posed fear on son's face)
Whimp, and he strikes again
(The clueless child, shakes with his pain )

The blats on the floor
and its black remains
The years of slaps
which slashed up cement

(He comes back..
drops his belt   )

A relief in boy's breath

The steel fallen,
relief is felt

The father with his red hands
(Blood flows out at a spot's end )
Smiles at the son

Dark is his eyes like year's repent

(A strung in his mind
He shakes only once,
As he picks up his belt)

He sits on his couch and
acts as he had a father –
with a belt-
(with its black shiny paint and
a steel which is melt.)

She ,
Comes quite while in morning
And ghosts quiet...
in chaosed evening
Like she lost way her around
-hunting
For a rat while rushing.

She lays her paw over harbour
Looking for her way out,
And disperse her self more quiet
Her eyes glows but light lost
While,
She eats the city with her
White paws.

A harsh reality, too deep in holdings,
The words of which echo the roles—
Subtle as atoms, pure as souls,
Roles the shadows quietly display.

Savour the taste of nothingness,
The dry throat between those eyes,
The empty light or darkness shined—
Fascination of dreams in such details,
Where shadows of light and dark are displayed.

The dream so big, the world made up,
Reality or fake—it’s what I craved for.
The woven quality of imagination and intrigue,
Curling of eyes like silky hair,
Exploring the world that was made up.
Ah, the smell of memories that
Wove dreams in my mind—
Fake or real, it’s what I’ve loved till now.

Oh, the touch of sweetness
Began in my lungs,
As I breathed the blood made of thoughts.
I began to move, walk a distance,
And fall with the vigilance of love untouched.
Oh no—it’s looking at me,
The string to the fabric of the goal to my heart.
As I stood, I loved the way
You curled up in my book of life,
Belonging to the love you weaved up.

As I called to the deep sense of my heart’s humour,
I found you—especially when I
Turned on the glow.
Oh, never needed that—
You, yourself, a crimson flow.
I needed that devotion, those connections.
I said it—your fragrance
Is what I have been waived by.
The reason of my existence lies in your heart.
Say it aloud—
Are you just a shadow in the world of intrigues,
Or in the tapestry of our emotions?

I like the way you kiss me—
In my heart, the swings that
Made me now are yours.
Ah, those lips of your pupil,
They saw the heart skip its beat.
Your home is now something
That has fallen for you—
In the very soul of you.

The meaning entwined—
You are light, then I am photon.
This world can’t slow down our motion.
The rules that were made were meant to be broken,
But the string to those meanings
We’ve woven—
That can never be broken.

All that was meant to end
Never started.
It just resides.
Whoever you are—

No..
it’s just me.
My soul bisects the identity of mine,
My loving nature, my mind,
Woven in the memories
Of light and dark.

As a catalyst, I have fallen for myself—
The dreams of my mind,
The shadow bestowed,
The heart instilled,
The taste of you,
The fragrance of eyes,
The empty light and dark that shines.

Oh, myself—
I love you.

He holds a blade in his hands
( A sharp and thinner )
Will he cut his own finger
Or will he cut another

He is been told -Past & Now
He is been scolded - Past & Now
( First for use, Now for the Plough)

"Oh , he went to hurt another?"

(The blood is crusted on his nails
And blade !)
Now will he wash off the blade
to tell If
He cut his own finger
Or did he cut another

He swings the blade
And dried off
And then,

He said " she was the target"

And
She had a blade
She said calmly
" My blade is blunt & so I
evade"

(The boy remembered what they told
They said everyone lie and they pretend
But he thought she was different
And didn't defend

He said "hold my hands"
She looked smiling,
And had her hands lend
She swirled her fingers
And blades with them,

She stabbed her blade
In his fingers
As she said "The end"

He got up and walked away
And In the forest,
He soaked his own blood
On the blades and then
walked away)

They asked him
Did he cut his own finger
Or did he cut another

He replied
" She was strong and had a big
Shiny blade "
" She lied that it was blunt
And she may evade"
" Though I knew she was lying
And so I fought her with my own
Blade"
" She stabbed me twice but
I prevailed"

They remarked him ,
For that he cut a finger another
And gifted him a new blade,

He spent his days in regret
Scratching the blade
And with his nails
( Becoming ****** and erased)

He was proud for the new blade
He thought it will make him
Anew and remade

But

whenever he saw it
It made him recall
"The smile of the girl
And The lies in her swirl".