Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Piyush Jun 26
Patience,
A little more patience.
Wait through the days,
With no expectations.

Dedication,
Followed by frustration.
I live in imagination,
Devoid of reciprocation.

Communication,
To sort the relation.
Before you fade,
Into silent celebration.

Desperation,
Still the hesitation.
Locked in forever,
In this realization.
Piyush Jun 15
A heart that desires nothing,
Now loses on empty evening,
It loses everything.
Brick by brick,
It breaks you completely.
Write it quick,
And leave the world discreetly.

Easy you go there,
Where nothing is pleasing,
A disturbed mind — strangely appeasing.
Bigger the talk, lesser the thing,
The last wish could be a walk,
Or it could be a ring.

Answer the questions,
Play it with skills.
What is obsession?
Don't count all the kills.
Far and far it is —
The world you miss.

Rise and rise,
Yet you don’t climb.
The harder the fall,
The harsher will be the rhyme.
Piyush Jun 9
Happy or sad,
You play the character,
Until you're completely dead.
Ponder on it,
Live your life around it.

The courage to speak of it
Doesn't come from a beautiful place.
Yet you stayed inside that
Uncomfortable dress.

You think of her the whole day,
Still, you choose the mask
When she appears in your way.

How sad it is—
You often cross her path,
Yet never look at her face.
Instead, you focus only
On her shoelaces.
Still, your character smiles
Through this pitiful day.

Lies and lies you say—
What good has your character
Done till this day?
“He never desires everything,
He never asks for anything.”
His wishes remain unwritten,
Yet his prayers are often heard.
Piyush Jun 4
A blue-feathered bird,
Sitting on my shelf,
Tells me a story
Not found in itself.

Of a poet and dead,
Of words that he said.
The poet was poor,
Only had words to pour.
The dead was once alive,
She was the king’s only tribe.

They met in shade,
No eyes, no blade.
He spoke in rhyme,
She gave him time.
No crown, no gold—
Just hands to hold.

The king knew
The poet’s affection—
For him, his daughter
Was no mere connection.
He ordered,
“Don’t ****, don’t spill the blood,
Write some words from the mud.
Hang him in the night,
When the moon will rise—
The poet’s will should die.”

She cried,
Yet they beat him
Till the night.

The story, never whole,
Remains told
By the blue-feathered bird.
The bird still sings, its voice not done,
Read the rest — there’s more than one.
Piyush Jun 4
The words you write, you're going blind,
You hide away, leave light behind.
Your world’s gone dull, it lacks a shine,
How much of truth will you define?

You beg for answers from above,
But guilt is not what gods are made of.
You did it all, don’t mask, don’t fake —
Refuse the lie, or let it break.

Be kind, be bold, begin to see,
The mirror’s cracked — the fault is me.
You bury night to chase the time,
But still the sun will rise at nine.

You found the page but lost the pen,
You try to start and stop again.
You call it luck, you hope it shows,
But talent hides where no one knows.

You write, you dream, you paint her face,
But words won’t earn a lover’s grace.
No rhyme can pull her into crime,
No line can cross that sacred line.

Still here you stand, a voice confined,
A life half-lived, a heart resigned.
Inside this shell, thoughts twist and wind —
This is your cursed poet’s mind.
What a ****** up mind.
Piyush Jun 4
Sometimes,
to **** someone
is kindness.
Yet none understand
the character’s blindness.

They laugh.
They abuse.
They always refuse
to stay another day.

And that's how
she walked away.

Only you know
how you stayed low—
how much you cried,
how hard you tried,
how deep you died.

But it doesn't matter.

Who the **** listens?
Who is up there?
What does He do?

Gave you life,
gave you a home,
yet you cry
just 'cause you didn’t
get your first phone.

Yeah, that's how it feels
when everything's locked inside.
Why do you look for light?
Live in the dark.
Live inside.

The home you got,
these walls,
stay here.

Why go there,
where you can’t even talk?
Why do you want to stalk
a beauty never yours?
Yet still,
you walk
near her block.

You idiot.
You fool.

Go say something.
Make her laugh.
Click her photographs.
Save them—
and cry
till you die.
Keep everything inside,
While you die outside.
Piyush Jun 2
Evening it is.
Already?
No work, no **** —
Just silence.
I'm writing.

Can't take the risk,
Yeah, I’m scared.
No pressure, no disc,
Yet I’m prepared.

To work,
I must,
Though my thoughts
Gather dust.

Finding work —
Yeah, I’m berserk.
Not skilled,
Just the will
To fight.

I’m waiting.
Yeah, there are great things,
Just not for me.
But then —
There is she,
In my memories.
Next page