A call from my couch.

Another day to my 9 to 5.
I took a break to rest my back for a while.
My never-ringing phone buzzed today for the first time.
I took a glance—a reckless one.
It was a call from my couch.
Yes, the one who dreams with me about you.
Yes, the one who believes that every dream of you is a sign—divine.

I picked up the call and said, "Hi."
It replied, "Hello, how's life?"
"Hmm," I said, "How can you talk?"
"Am I dreaming? It was a total shock."

He asked me, "Are you dreaming about her all alone?
Please answer on the phone.
Did you find your time with her?
Why were you up all night?

Will you write your stories without spilling your ink on me—
The things about us and the glory—
While slumber takes you away, and now you can't even blink?

Will she—the divine, the feather, the dance, the shine?
I am curious how you will ends this rhyme.
Without me, without her.
Your heart signaled me before—are you fine?
Your sleep still waits on you.
Hope someday this dream finds you."

What is love?
It is not a mere word.
It is a mystery; not understood by any nerd.
Is it just a word, an emotion or just sensation?
I would say it is an impression of the world.
An irrelevant stance.
A silly dance on your chance.
It's like water — it flow, it stays.
It adapts to shapes, it shifts with phase.
Yet, stays the same.
Cool, calm and clear—
Like a thought of my poetic peer.
What is love?—
my long-standing fear.
Overdone is a sin;
Underdone is a grief.
Hanging in the middle of mischief.
I only know this much and that's all my brief.

What is poetry without admirers?
If you read it, give it a silent applause.

What is poetry without a thought?
Yes! Mind's whirlwind — I gave it a shot.

What is poetry without love?
I string some lines to bind your heart.

What is poetry, if it is not a guide?
Without it, there is no divine ride.

What is poetry, if it is not truth?
Maybe it is a story of mystery and a fleeting muse.

What is poetry, if it is not about me and you?
Maybe it’s about stars, freedom — and some binding truce.

Being within or Being without.
Pouring in the *** or pouring out.
What is a thought?
This question blows my mind.
It is an over and out.

Do facts speak louder than fiction?
Or is it something that we just require for diction?
Writing it in verse or saying things with a face.
Can you describe your thought to me?
Choose your medium now; just bring it out.

Was an action — was thought, or it was the remedy.
What was it? Romance or comedy?

Ache of my head or an apple of my eye?
Is scientific and mathematical.
Why, what, and how to define.
What is a thought?
Can you explain it to me?
Why is it painful? — a quest or experience.
Why every time it brings a change to me?

Every page of my diary asks for a title.
It asks for a note.
I nervously write your name with mine
Gulping up my throat.
Every time, the nip of this pen bloats ink,
It marks you on a paper.

I know you don't trust me.
You don't like me—
Still I am here— wobbling lyrics like a rapper.
How those classical old songs know what my heart feels today?
This sunshine radiates your love— my hay.

Paragraphing down the third
I hope you won't leave my heart unheard.

Maybe this couch on which I daily crash in
Every dream I dream of you—
It knows you better even than me.
Whenever I cry it holds up my chin.

I told you my heart by sewing my words
Like an amateur trying to stitch his old worn shirt.
My trembling hands are now writing my nerves
What can I say more?
If you still don't like me.
Then tear my heart, a trashed subtitle.
It will no more hit you abashed.
Believe me, it will never hurt...
Nothing to rest.

Sitting alone over an uncomfortable chair.
I really felt that day — is life really unfair?
Lotus — an abode of supreme, a symbol of beauty.
Dream itself to be in an orchid of lily.
Is it about expectations and perspective?
Why do we have such thoughts?
Are we flawed, unwilling to find our perspective?
Without being incomplete, insolent, abstract, or a nuisance,
To be full of pride — do we really need to lose our innocence?
I wondered this thought all this thundering night,
Swayed and pursued on a different side of my might.
Will the sun only shine around darkness?
I questioned my own definition of valour and of a knight.
This unanswered quest still wakes me up every night...

Excruciating thoughts are all over me.
My ache, my earnest love.
You... will you walk with me?

A walk where our quietness converses with the night stars,
And we — we will revel in each other's grace for hours.

A sleep that I dream of —
My head on your lap.
I want to spend my life away from this dismay.

If you allow, I want to hear your stories,
Your fables, your poems — till my last breath.
Till my last day.

My brain is done with its braining.
From all around us, I see leaves whistling.
This barren earth found its love.
Yes! It is raining.

My struggle, my shrugged hurdles —
All have now been washed away.

Should I tell you the truth?
Should I say?
You already know me.
I am standing here with my strangled nerves.

Unwind me, or I will fray.
Or I will fray.