Homelessness to evictions to robberies,
Why all the poverty and violence?
Why can't we share wealth, peace and love?
Is it that hard?
It shouldn't be so hard,
It's actually pretty easy,
You eating while your people starving,
What kinda person are you?
We can all eat not just you,
Treat our brothers and sisters as equals,
Not treat em like peasants.

It has to get better,
We gotta treat our brothers and sisters better,
If you eating then feed your family,
Never let your family starve,
There's more love to be shared than hate.

Our way of living has to change,
Things only change when we change them,
Change doesn't happen on its own.

Last moment's image of my eye's pupil causes it to look like drops of ink.
That is, along with the muscles of the eye and face.
The blood rush from the back of the eye changes the color of the pupil.
The blue of my iris gets mistaken for my pupil.
Blue dispersing back from the eye changes it too.
Green is simply the 'filling-in' phenomenon.
Same with yellow.

Are dreams merely a filling-in between life lived from one day to the next?
Is spiritual vision merely a filling-in of beliefs with physical sight?

Please dance the way you do .
Flaws and all.
Perfection I know not. Meaning be the key.
With not for me to see it. The clouds are awaiting. Be thee.
Cast away shy and embrace bold. This moment belongs not to the clouds.
1…..2……3……..open book. Read me deeply.
The taste of perfectionless heart. You have not tasted this before.
I invite you. Dine!

she doesn't like flowers
at least not as romantic gestures
she'd rather
watch them
grow
blossom
wilt

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

Internetly
There's nothing I cannot be
I can pretend I am rich
Or young, or anyone
But me
But that doesn't work
With poetry
It strips me bare
For all to see