I tried writing about different things,
Of different kinds,
But nothing helps me let her go
Out of my mind.

The enthusiasm and gist fade, losing their core.
Whatever I write without the essence of her,
Even the audience doesn't give a heed
That's for sure.
Oh ! This yielding rage.
It feels like I am in a cage.
What is this disease?
And at what stage?
Yearnings are now beyond ages
Maybe love is just for the stoic
Just for the sage
What to do?
What to say?
I am crying,
I want my soul to slay,
My soul to slay.

Did you ever look up at the sky?
The silver clouds hold the rain.
They will pour it for a reason
And grace the land,
Washing away every stain.

For a reason above reasoning,
The one seasoned with your name.
So let the rain tell your story—
There is no shame.

The whole of your life, we chase that dime,
And in that chase, indeed, we lose the people—prime.
Are you looking up like me,
Maybe from your balcony?

Oh! You found flowers down on the ground—
Yellow petals of some fallen flower.
The rain brings a message of this time
And asks me not to lose you,
Affirmed by the legion of the wine.

When I hear you weep
It takes away my peace, my sleep.
How to maneuver on the turns so steep?
Zoned out—wandering about the pain,
The one that was hurtful and deep.

Rain poured, giving birth to this WordPress,
Your tears hold priceless value.
Can I hold your hand for now?
Time will change its course, I guess.

Aghast I feel, a thing difficult to flex,
The challenge was hard, yet we welcomed the test.
Overcoming the shortcomings,
We did our part—we did our doings.

Later in time, we get a flashback,
Sleeping on your favorite bed.
Like two friends gossiping and giggling on the roadside.
Perhaps, you are right!

It is not the end of the road,
It's all about taking up the flight.
Did we walk up this path only to pass?
Staying apart, though together we did start.

For I just want to walk with you,
Holding your hand,
Away—relieved from this world's errands.
Destiny will find us soon,
Till then, we will gaze at this smiling moon.

What does the bird say?

High, we fly over and above in the sky.
Sometimes alone.
Sometimes in a flock
Roaming the world around the clock
Clouds like dreams, we pass through.
Believe  us - That's the only way to be happy
Away from rue.
Open your wings and just try to fly.
That's the only way to keep your spirits high
Love we spread among all in our every ride.

A flock of seven birds.
Chirping and laughing near a table.
Sometimes you would find them sitting on a cable.
Sounds unavoidable -
Definitely you would have heard.
That little flock of sparrows—such a ravishing breed.
Every summer, they used to fly to this place.
Sky was warm and sweet but not ablazing fire.
Back in the time,
A bird whose presence we have lost in our time.
A sparrow - a symbol of resilience,
A symbol of hope,
A small pookie bird.
Have you seen them fly?
If not, then there is a reason naive.
For we, the admirers, were the ones who destroyed their houses,
And treated them as mere slaves.
On top of that, we increased the heat wave.
Making their survival tough
In the region which was once full of love.
Philosophers lost the art of philosophy
Watching this apocalypse - A catastrophe.
Helpless breeders finding it hard
To make the breed survive.
Meanwhile, I am just wandering.
When will I open my own shut eye?

An awakening message on a board,
A beaming spotlight on a grave note.
Aggressive yet subtle,
A paper scream a yell of pain - unknown.

A woman writer crafts fiction like reality,
Unmasking the lowliness of human mentality.
She writes something valiant and sensible,
Challenging the culture of overdoing—the unreasonable.

To build homes for those who seek finest of the fine,
Is it rational to destroy nature’s design?
Can’t they see what happened to other lands—
Barren and dry!

For the essence of fresh air, can’t they hear people's cry?
Greed instills demise without bloodshed.
If you cut the green,
Apologies from the heart—
You are not painting your city red.
You are not painting your city red!!

From the eyes of the North.
Watched a festival of a new land—his new innings.
A festival telling a story of new beginnings.
A new yug (year), a new adi (beginning),
Together we call it Ugadi.

Eyes linger after seeing a traditional dish,
A full circle of life—it tastes like a blissful wish.
With ingredients similar to what life offers—
Situations and moments, many.

It tells us to keep a smile like jaggery,
Even in situations that bring agony.
Life is tough and bitter like neem,
Yet necessary for growth and moving upstream.

If you feel gloomy—a sour tamarind,
Always remember, even in that,
You will find a blessing of the reverend.

Have a will—a strong one,
That makes your challenges look silly.
Be like the dish—spicy, like green chili.

Salty moments will pass away,
Just believe in yourself.
A single step forward will make them sway—far away.

If you take a bite of raw mango,
Life will give you surprises.

I witnessed a celebration,
Stuck in awe.
Prayers humble, and performances few—
I felt that felicity in this city new.

I witness a celebration -
Stuck in awe.
Prayers humble and performances few
I felt that felicity in this city-new.