Why?
Music of this rain
Sounds like the rustling leaves.

Why do your tears still
flow from my face?
A shunned scenery.

I was going to erase your glimpses
From my mind.
But that portrait...
Keeps relaying itself on rewind.
To pay for my misdeeds;
I lost my smile—

With my brimming, grave face.
I will live my life without a humanly grace.
Without a doubt
Without a trace.

Unaware of your misery.
I kept writing those tiring words
Out of my merciless dictionary.

My condolences —
For still holding your memories
Like a vision of an ungrateful visionary.

But if you still confirm
Our love's daunting mystery.

Then, every drop that touches
this Earth.
Will fulfill destiny—
Like those monks of that monastery.

What's new?
So asked the social app.
Asking updates on my life.
How should I tell you about my heart
Within the word limit of one thirty five.

In its four chambers of flowing memory.
It stored some grief,
Some wisdom,
Some mischief
A picture of someone—
The blessings divine.

And ya, some fat and cheese—

Throbbing in and out—
The surging river goes up and down.
Spreading rumours all around.
Getting me on my nerves.
Shaking my whims and doubts.

How do I summarise my poetry?
Life has written it very long.
Flipping pressure low to high
Not with coffee
But by scribbling lyrics on a slow WiFi.
Is it just me
Or are these muscles mad?
Cute yet ******.
This pump machine wants to
paint the city red.
String it in— that goofy song

Whenever I see this photo—
It reminds me that I am an incomplete being away from you
I am an absolute idiot—
Lost in your wisdom and memories
I still remember —
Teasing and making funny videos of you—
You just smiled and played along.
Crazy warmth of a humble family.
Where you taught me
What it is like being a human being.

After receiving a message from the divine.
I lost my mentor to the angel of death.
And surrendered my happiness to the devil of time.
And then we both traveled too far...
One to another side,
And one beyond skies.
I miss my home... the one built by you.
All alone I stand among the crowd.
With a photo of you in one hand
And another of our beloved divine.
I lost the only thing
I thought was mine.

You say maybe...
I wish it — to be true
I want to tell you
That my ailing heart is exhausted yet it pumps for you.
Reddish blood of mine
is now storing your memories—
in its plasma.
These Banyan trees—
Whisper stories of your charisma.

I lost my musicality
Withstanding the world's brutality—
Reading your verses
On that well-crafted page
I lost my sense of poetry.
I lost my presence on this earthly stage.

If anyone can feel my ache
these deciphered lines would then depict—
That my heart is at stake.
A betting bait—
Your maybe...
Is my spinning wheel with options: Two.
Either the obvious oblivion
Or the make-believe truth.
Rebellious yet resilient
I am in a zone—undefined.
Maybe we will chance upon—
Rowing the same boat
Or perhaps... you will find me
near that crossroads.

If longings were a person,
Would he be sitting on a bench?
Thinking deeply—
A hand on his chin.
Snared by his own thoughts.
Troubled by a haunted reverie of you
Colours in his mind have turned to drought.

Or would it be a guy on a social app.
Adrift in never-ending
scrolling and swipes.
Posting — reposting the images
Of his own unrest.
Is it an act—unwise?

Someone — stale.
Travelling on a metro rail.
Peering out of the window.
Gazing at the moving greenery.
With slight tears in his eyes.
A person secluded—
in this crowded scenery.

Or will it be that guy
Sitting in a coffee shop?
Reading a book
With a daunting smile.
What thoughts would this longing have?
That it made him look up.
And see the world above those pages.
The world available yet unnoticed.
With time passing by.

Or would he be that person
Strumming high musical notes
Or an artist painting
some incomplete strokes.
Imagining and designing
The shapes of longing.

Or may be a scribbler like me.
Sitting on a bench.
Mingling some letters—
Weaving a poem -long.

I quested for an answer—
To a sentence quizzed by you.
I replied with pompous pride,
Yet failed to see it through;
Little did I know…
The answer was you.

Like clay baked
To become a vase.
I endured this fleeting blaze.
Silently,  yet burning out.
In a kiln—
Fueled by your thoughts.
Whistling my smoking agony out.

Healing through pottery
Healing through verses
Am I really healing
from this love curse?

She once asked—
The question; a hard test.
How can one move on?
After showering on somebody
Nothing but the best...

I can't even move on
When I showered nothing
Since for me,
You are the best.
You will be the best.
The adorning vase—
From that burning cage.
Built with blisters on my hand
Pressing against my wounded heart..
Ailing from madness and pain

Late night in the Kitchen...
Looking towards my boiling pan...
Bustling bubbles of water
Which were steaming up the thin air.
I put the old Tea bag in —
Brewing down some thoughts—
I don't remember what they were.
Out in the black, out the window
I just kept staring to nowhere...
Nowhere forward in the pitch black.
Perhaps, moon took a break—
Hiding away — just in a snap.

Gleaming light in my life
Was yet to come—
Calming my unsettling thoughts—
With this caffeinated drink.
I noticed some subtle stir of wings —
The wings of pain
Sitting on that window pane.
What was it?
An old wise owl—
A story, a phrase it growled.
Move to perfection — to your grave.
a thought to ponder—
Undiscovered yet an enlightening game.

A story of a bland start
Reviving my dying hopes
of the missing moonlight.
Then the owl flew away—
I went back to my unknown ponderings—
That pitch black night.