Some magic runs between the golden hours of 3 to 5...
Everything is calm...it feels divine
A time...I meet myself...
My place...hates the presence of light
But the awfully stubborn sunlight sneaks in secretly
through the thick curtains...
lighting up...parts of my dark room
And there I am laying on my bed...
I feel so complete, with my soul in high spirits...
Old songs playing on the radio...can be heard.

It's that serene part of the day...I live for
The whole house is in deep slumber...
As I dance through the hallways...celebrating my afternoons
The seasons change...but the loyalty of these afternoons surprise me...
constant...from the day we met .

The hot summer afternoons...drown me in siestas
jumping like a dolphin from one dream to another.
There is something about the stormy rainy afternoons that makes me feel over whelmed...
bathing me in memories of someone I've never met.
The autumn afternoons see me fickle
As I lose myself completely...for a new change.
The darkness of my soul rises during the winter afternoons...
As I dance through them with my demons.
Vintage melodies fill the fragrant air of spring afternoons
as my camera captures Nadar's smile under the big white clouds.

The silence of these afternoons...rests like roses in my soul...
Only for them to wither...in the harsh evenings.

Leave them be
Headphones on
Cancelling sounds
Yours and theirs
Equalisers on
Fine tuned within
Listen to the song
And truly belong

Some unfinished poetries can be understood by only some,
cause it has to be felt..

their eyes full of judgement
makes me lament
the loss of something that could be
at the cost of me being free

their words full of contempt
and the lack of tempt
makes me feel oh so guilty
since couldn't i bear his proximity

their hearts full of rage
place me in my mind's cage
where i can breathe
in my own hell do i seethe

their brains full of malicious stuff
that makes me tough
each day each hour
i realize i've come pretty far

so i exist the way i am
"too glam to give a ****"
my wildness can't be tamed
-a memory that can't be framed

Brilliance of liquid gold
Speckled with glitter and stars
Arresting the celestial plafond
A touch of Neanderthal aesthetics
Modern and ancient air
Fusing under the beauteous sky

A poet is someone who rhymes,
Or at least takes care of structures.
A poet is someone who just sings,
Or rather makes music of the verses.
A poet is someone who bleeds black,
Or even weeps a rainbow of phrases.