I watched your smart pretences.
A good move....you upheeved in me
Some cute nuances.

For those elegant times.
That still stand tall
in my mind.
They feel like a recent news
of an ancient time

When pharaohs were the prime—
High regards to the rulers of lover's shrine.

Do you remember?
that library of arts and history.
Which had a book—
Titled, "We decide our own destiny".
Was it a one on mystery?

A mystery - that made me
think, like a patient old guy
Taking a sigh,
I asked the silence—
Will we ever cross paths
Anytime soon?

Or should I again,
wait for that fateful red moon.

I hope it made you smile..
That sun pretends to be a moon
My apologies,
just want to say afternoon.

This pretentious, charismatic
thought of mine.
Will care; not for once
But lifelong - a shortest
span of clocked time—

Share with me your trouble—
Like those witches,
maybe I too,
can make that cauldron bubble.

Away would be
those displeasures
If you ever read
my nine words rhyme
Believe me—
There would always be the sunshine.

How love dwells in silence?
Sitting together on a quiet table—
How someone understands the other
Without the other expressing its choice.

How does a hand gesture care?
Without calling it out...
Why does it feel like a folklore?
Do fancies happen?
answered, yet unsaid.

Chewing my expression
Like a gum without any sweetness.
I saw something unexplained
an astonishing awareness

Gulping my heart deep down
Missing my morning crown
It wasn't a fancy town
But still was—
a town of dreams.

That I am left with—
some faded echoes;
Mixtaped memories.
Just get along — then move on.

Perhaps! It was meant to be.
Maybe! That's why they say
See the world the way it meant to be...

No pressure; only vibes
Living the predictable-
Yet ever changing life.

With a coffee steaming hot,
He pours down his caffeinated thoughts...
Notions about love and life—
Cutting the edge like a vegetable knife.
Whistling off the pressure
from this sizzling ***...
He puts down those delicious wedges
on a plate.

A dream, a muse
A crop with an edible seed,
And some seasoning - straight.
A culinary of a different delight.
A similar taste, yet variety in spice

An old radio—
On a modern slab.
Unusual cutlery - a chopstick and a fork.
Like instruments of a chemical lab.

A pan shimmering songs of beatles.
Romeo lyrics with onion in julienne
Tomatoes calling "Hey Jude"
Oil burns them softer...
Till the prelude.

Stressing away the chilli—
With those spicy words,
And with the pinch of longings.
Enhancing the taste—

The south curry is ready
to be served
Tasters in awe...
Asked me the novice.
The know and how—

It was a recipe
Crafted by heart
My journey towards you
Took an appetizing start.

This rain has now stopped pouring.
After getting me drenched to the core
This rain has now stopped pouring.
After Scenting fragrances of this soil
Like an ephemeral scene
Filling it pore to pore
This rain has now stopped pouring.

After teaching my heart how to thunder
This rain has now stopped pouring
After giving a sweet dream of you
A home that dwells in me
My heart instills...
To play with this puddle—
May this rain pour more on me.

So this was love
Among the stars, yet not very far.
Different but it was ours—
Different fleetings moments—unaware.
Different lines.
Without saying the reality.
Some random lines
Some dreams to share.
A book of 50 pages
Beads of wisdom, memories
And reverie...
A thing concealed cleverly
Since ages.

So this was love.
Hand in hand...
No words uttered.
Something to understand.
Gesture spoke their saying
In the language of silence...
Tides to flow—
Nothing to withstand.

A flute played a scenery.
A brush drew a song.
Absurdity felt
But we moved along—
Different paths
Towards same heart—

So this was love...
It was like a candle.
It breathes and melts
To enlighten and emit
the burning light.
For the people — in dark.

Why did roads get tired?
Why do they always keep moving?

Unbothered and indifferent—
About the weather's play...
Why are they oblivious to this relay?

Everybody watches...
But nobody feels.
Maybe they do!
Yet hide it - to heal.

Rain is moderating
his story and his cry.
A visibly audible outcry.

Jumbled droplets
on crumpled leaves

We missed the alchemy—
Turning soil into clay.
Are marshlands meant
just for toddlers to play?

My soul stays alone.
Lost in time.
Will somebody ever notice me?
or would I only live
in traces that faded.

Like it always happens,
in memory of time.

Hope you are ok?
A flower from the garden fay.
A quest so common
I hold an unusual answer
to say.
Hope you are ok!
My troubled mind—
Has so much to convey...
Yes! I am trying to be ok..

I used all my imagery.
From all those things which move—
To all those which are stationary.
To tell you this—

Near that cliff,
Of that ghat road.
I was thinking about you.
Weighing down my heart.
I push this heaviness
Off the board.

Though I know,
My ears are still wet
from behind...

Is this an old school fleeting
Scribbled on a telephone diary—
Of the modern-medival time.

Reading your hymes
With a sunflower
Feeling that musical rhyme.

Have you ever witnessed.
Storm and summer at the same time.
That's what's happening inside my mind.
Yes I am okay...
When I am in  reverie
I see your shrine.