The emptiness in my eyes,
The truth behind my lies,
The fall before my rise,
And the goodbyes;

It scares me.

The dark beneath my skin,
The light within my sins,
The voice that loudly sings,
And my broken wings;

It scares me.

The wounds I can't heal,
The pain I can't feel,
The loss I can't deal,
And when I am real;

It scares me.

The silence in my little talks,
The stillness in my moonlit walks,
The thought of separate ways,
And my numbered days;

It scares me.

The demons under my bed,
The words spinning in my head,
The blood in my sweat,
And my cold breath;

It scares me.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj

I have a cemetary inside.
No fences.
Bodies are layered
East, west, north, south.
Legs and arms wrap my organs,
Squeezing sideways, lengthways
And diagonally.
Dates are heartstones
Chiselled in my brain.
They arrive unexpectedly,
Some from places I've not visited,
And stay.
It's crowded,
They keep coming.
I've flowers and meditations as well,
And sit quietly amidst the noise
And visit.

This man taught me everything,
That I needed to know,
But I never really listened,
I thought I knew it all.

He gave me love,
Even when I really didn't want it,
And he touched my life,
In a way I cannot describe.

He taught me right from wrong,
And I can honestly say,
The day he left,
I wasn't that strong.

I felt like there was no more fire,
To ignite anymore,
That the darkness won,
Over my inner light.

He will be missed dearly,
Because he made a mark,
On all of our hearts,
His name written in permanent ink.

For all those times I left it unsaid,
I want to thank him.
Thank him for being there for me,
For being patient even when I made it difficult.

It's hard to believe,
That he is gone now,
Somewhere where I cannot reach,
But I am certain I will meet him again in Heaven.

Because when tomorrow starts without him,
Don't think we're far apart.
For every time I think of him,
He's right here in my heart.

My father’s watch,
I notice stopped.
His movement ceased
to turn the cogs,
that spin the gears,
which move the dials,
that give the promise
of a while.
 
The watch now mine,
but still it’s stopped.
It sits inside a precious box.
The frozen hands,
my father still,
his whispered breath,
his secrets kept.
Regret, regret.
 
One day ready
to wear that watch,
I’ll move the gears,
start time again,
in good knowing
the hour I’m stood
will come to be,
eventually.