Everything
i was fond of him
Never existed in him,

Instead
Everything I love about you
Is all that I kept seeking in him

While , he was just a  
  m
       i
          r
             a
                g
                   e ;
And here you're !
A certain  
   t
      r
         u
             t
                h
Of mine ..


©poojakaundal
apr212018

Somewhere
Out there

b e y o n d

A road of
Attentions and infatuations ;

You'll see another
Path too,
— m e e t
                    m e
                               t h e r e



©poojkaundal | apr202018

I feared grey
And always
Kept running
Behind the shades..

But it was you,
Who
when left me
In grey
Alone,
made
me realise
That "grey"
Was the
most suitable one
For me..

For besides
All the shades
It was "grey"
That always stay
When nothing else did
Including you...

©poojakaundal
apr042018

With
A heart
So fragile,
I kept
Bleeding
The
Verses that
Personified
Me gracefully,
And
Became my
Masterpieces

But,
They are
No more the
Words
That
You once

o w n e d

©poojakaundal
Apr032018

to be a writer..

it’s an awfully emotional adventure.

it doesn’t mean
you’ve always got a pen in hand.
it also doesn’t mean
you’ve got too many voices in your head.

to be a writer
means to fall in love young,
and to never fall out of love.
because like a true love,
the words will never leave you
or never let you down.

to be a writer
means that you want it;
you crave the aligned phrases,
the scratch of lead on paper,
the depth of the ink soaking in.
the beauty that the words leave behind.

to be a writer
means that you need it,
that without it,
you’re not sure how you’d speak
without a voice.
it means that early in the morning,
when your cheeks are stained with tears
and your heart is trembling
within its cage
the flow of words
coming from inside
is the only thing that can save you.

to be a writer..

is an awfully wonderful adventure.