I found out that I’ve known
The language of the autumn
All along
But she couldn’t handle
Her own
Transitive verbs
And the silent consonants,
The stressed vowels
That brought her sorrow
I was pure torture when
I spoke to her
With a passion that
Shed her chills
In cold tears
Stabbing shards
Crashing in my ribs
I was our undoing
Inevitable as winter

“save the trees”, it says
on the sheets of paper
made out of their death

She got her God at last.

Bathed and in white saree
she offers him his choicest food
burns his favorite incense
sits with him to converse
about the day and events
argues to make her point
smiles at his complaint
of less salt or more sugar
cries at his question
if she misses him
as much as he misses her
and the two reach out to each other
more than all the years
of seeking the fulcrum
to balance the bond.

Dishes served full are well laid on the table
prawns are glittering adornments
though only yesterday
their tentacles were tasting the river
not knowing they would be in another water
in the river of saliva
grinded and pulped for a tasty moksha.

The rain falls unabated from last night.

Who'll go out to feed?, asks a voice.

Does never being hungry feel the same stress
as being hungry most of the time?

The answer is in the clouded eyes
watching the eyes
joyful for one more chance.

Look no further than yourself,
be your own lamp
your own refuge.

The rain washed sky found a mirror in his eyes.

Yet for some time as the end neared
he was hearing an echo
from the deep well of nirvana
urging his weary feet toward a home
his aeons ago.

The frail bones feeling the pull
drove his weary feet through rains
to be on that land one last time.

Look no further
for howsoever long is the journey
must come to an end at home.

That night as he lay under the śāl tree
they strained to hear him whisper

All composite things decay,
strive diligently.

I want to feel loved but I don't want a snake..
I want to give my love and not have to break..
Why do I feel all the women I know are fake..
Why..
Because love itself is like an ocean and I'm drowning in a dried up lake.

~p.w

Shakespeare once said
"My mistresses eyes are nothing like the sun"
But oh how her eyes are now the sun itself and when i cross pathes with them my eyes are set a blaze.
 When she gazes apon me I feel the rays of her past hatred leisurely creep across my spine and seep into my skin towards my already separated heart.

~p.w