When I am with you, even hell feels like heaven,
For I have seen God walking beside you.

But how long can fragrances last?
When the scent of you emits all around.
A 'Sampangi' sensation that outlasts.

When the moon touches your cheeks with moonlight,
It whispers about you.
It groovingly descends the light,
Echoing you thrice, like in the love fable - 'White Night.'

Then, like always, it happens in a way
That even poems can't define it by any means.
Anyway—

My face talks more than my tongue.
The pumping muscle has started throbbing outside my lungs.
I am now away from sanity—
Now, delved into the world of chattiest utterance.

One side of me says it's a lovely gesture.
Another says it's not.
Which one to believe ?
My mind is diminishing and it's beginning to rot.
About that gesture of silence.
Don't **** me with stillness
If you still, do want to **** me
you must **** by violence.
Hurricane inside me
About this notion-
Now, I ponder
They are getting strong.
Lasting little longer,
Like an ocean wave, They are getting stronger
I am unable to hold it any longer.
I am a peasant fighting a war.
Aggrieved victim who couldn't score.

It feels like I loop same verse on a repeat-
Is it graceful?
Why do I feel this heat.
It's like an unknown revolt
Why am I resistant?
Just to write about you.
This pen-
I just can't hold.

Whenever I try to craft something new.
My Imagery becomes dull.
And I remember words a few.

And whenever I try to write you.
There, 'you will see
A poet is born -proclaimed'.
A poet of hope
A poet of rue.
Oh! There again!
My mind is askew
Lost its *****.

Walking down a lonely street,
I saw a light-like human—
Felt like a treasured dream,
A shape like a heart.

Chasing me down the lane,
I turned around and asked, shiveringly,
"Who are you?"
Then that creature began to whistle a tune—
In an unusual rhythm,
An unusual rhyme.

He sang—
"I am divine, refined, and the beauty of this time.
You rhyme me with agony and aghast.
You say I’m a reverie, like magic,
A poet’s favorite word from which they start.
I am in flora, I am in fauna.
The Lord’s favorite servant.
I served angels and demons—
Even dinosaurs, to some extent."

Mesmerized by his answer,
I inquired, "But… what is your name?"
He said,
"I am Love.
And now, you are my contender.*
Let’s play this cupid game

You are my reverie,
The unwithered voice of your heart
That calls me—your blooming love.
I am a longed spirit with apologies
For a reticent start.

You are the only one in the billion.
Don’t feel alone—
You are a north star,
A devotion of the affectionate moon.
I hope that I did tell you my words a little soon.

Even if this world perceives me as a clown,
Still, in your love, I am ready to drown.

Standing still with your shadow by my side,
I promise to keep my word.
Even if, by this world’s unruly stride,
I may come back and forth,
Like the tides returning to the seashore—
A conventional but uncontrollable sight.

I won’t fade away.
I, too, don’t want to be a memory.
I yearn to be with you
Till the seizure of my lifeline,
And till the end of time.


Till the seizure of my lifeline
And till the end of time

"Darkness of night had borne new life upon its *****."
A rise anew—
Sitting on a waiting bench.
In front of that gateway, I found the providence of you.

Imagining your image, I still do.
Even if it makes a monkey out of me.
I tried a lowkey job of forgetting you,
Still, I remember you—
I still do.

How to embrace my grievances—
I have no idea about—
Writing good words about you, I still do.

You said books, moon, freedom, and stars
Would bring you back those happy hours.
Yes! They will. They are!
But I still remember you.
I am endlessly drawn-out,
Yet I still remember you.
Looking at my healed scar,
I still remember... you.

I meet beings with twirled tails.
One with fox-like eyes,
Another wiggling his child-like tail.

Without a language—
They conversed with me heart to heart.
I met beings who were really smart.
Strangely, I understand everything,
While they only used the word 'bark'.

Happy and spiritual,
They are closer to God
Without performing any pompous rituals.

They hide themselves under the canopy of a greenish light.
They look different but don't judge—
Not measuring and fixing each other's right.

Unlike humans—the man of science,
Who spend years to create languages,
Still can't express their love or their pain.
How do they do it?
Gasping your temperament,
They read between the lines!

These four-legged, chirping beings,
Waggling their googly eyes.
Wearing an identity collar—
A free breed, indeed.
Joyous always,
Non-believers of caste and creed.

They live life carefree—with or without shelter.
I know it now,
Why people name their dog—Dr. Watson or Walter.