Forgive me for my thoughts,
For they were not kind.
Forgive me for my words,
For they were not true.
Forgive me for my actions,
For they hurt you, though I never meant to.

Forgive me for my dance,
For I learned it for you but never got to show.
Forgive me for my art,
For it was inspired by you when I should have let it go.
Forgive me for my music,
For its tune bound our hearts, yet it made you cry.
Forgive me for my heart,
For it beats only for you—day and night.

I write what feels right,
Still hiding—words are my disguise.
Poetry is just a form,
Like other arts, I con.

I con hearts,
I con songs,
I con beauty—
I con everything that comes along.

I am a writer—a stealer, a thief,
I write what the world chooses to snub.

I write to see that smile—
That embrace of warmth, soft yet wild.
A mere observer, I call it a game,
Bringing the cough up, even if others find it lame.

Why do I feel like an empty vessel,
Like a soul caged in a dark, vast castle?
I shouted. I cried.
Yet the only sound I heard was my own voice.
Did I come here by my own choice?

For forgiveness, I plead,
Even for the path I did not lead.
Yes, I made choices—some were not right,
But does that make me guilty, the bearer of this outcry?
Or is it something else, yet to be finalized?

Is this a green room for gladiators,
Only to be vandalized?
What should I do with this vessel,
Once filled with passion and hustle?
Now, it is just an empty jar.
Should I break it—
And rise above the bar?

I saw you painting—a canvas of chripping birds,
A face like yours—immersive, yet shy—
Holding warmth, an unspoken invitation,
Guiding through that arch.

And then, pointing at you...
And to share heartspace with another—
You see golden pillars—joining hands together.
Ah! It is not a souvenir,
An artificial gateway.
Let's pass through.

May you find something interesting altogether.
What could it be? you wonder.
Or how would it be? Is this the question that steals your thunder?

Just do it, let it out.
This deed would be there in your heaven's ledger account.
If you fail, if you stumble—that won't matter.
The gladness that you tried is all that matters.

Come, let's join hands together,
To go across and feel the weather.

Queen of Spades...
Queen of Hearts...
What should I say?
From where should I start?

Am I tired of writing stories of the heart?
For the heart brings a box filled with chaos—
A weight of dismay,
Ah! Some traces of illogical hope,
And some things... should I say?

Perplexed, he stands—
What should he carry, and what should he let go?
Don't bluff your cards—hey! Just show.

He wants to propose something to me, I suppose.
Maybe a proposal of care,
A proposal to share,
A proposal to collaborate,
A proposal—one that's fair.

Maybe he forgets—
Whenever one proposes,
The other may dispose.

Let me scribble my journey into this habit
Of adjoining weird words, making an ad-lib.

I once saw a fantastic persona.
Astonishing was their perspective.
Away they looked, though their presence was active.
You will never be able to figure out—
What's on their mind and what they are going to practice.

Headphones on their heads, voices in their minds.
The world on the other side is busy with its stride.
"In unique ways they tilt, their insights distill"
Two sitting at the table—they might assume them to be a couple,
Then laugh when it ripples.
Can you imagine the noise of those giggles?

Rumors and hoaxes—
I always sense a fox, an eye for an eye,
Hunting near the field of rye.

Funny, I feel, when I play detective of detectives.
When the case gets solved, why so reactive?
Recording incidents all over the crowd,
Instilling in lines, I write this rhyme—out loud.

Is this a new test?
I don't find it reasoned enough
That you left, thinking I would take care of the rest.
You were the one who taught me all
And believed that I could climb that big wall.

Without you, everything seems meaningless to me.
Should I grunt?
Should I cry?
Without you, I can't even shut my eye.

Is this the right way to leave?
Yes! Lesson learned—I have to strive.
But without you on my cheering side,
Even if I win a mountain,
I won't be content.

I miss the pride I used to see in your shiny eyes.
There is a storm with no direction.
I wish for a possibility of resurrection.