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.

It all started with a  dream
The one where I don't scream
Tucking turmoils into my sleeve.
With a smiling face—
I tried to walk on — on my feet.
Holding in my  thoughts
Yet alone on these streets

After a long day!
Happy with my own dismay
I went to sleep.
For a slumber under a thunderous sky
It relays the splashing light on my wall
Like a cinematic reel —
Projecting scenes of our lives

Move with perfection — to your grave.
A thought - naive.
Got stuck in my mind.
Unable to comprehend its worth.
It was so hard to find.
Overloved, overworked
For the infinite times.
I fall for you—
Maybe that's the perfection.
And my longings are my grave,
In this line... In this rhyme...

Cursed with love.
Holding my pen—
Writing letters —
unfound, unheard.

A thought unusual—
Crossed my mind.
Love is water—
It adapts to different bodies.
Different roles.
Different rules—
Paying an unimaginable price.

Is my love is like a cage.
If it is–
Then, In it  I am the only inmate.
Seiged yet not in shackles.
Mind is free yet thoughts are behind bars.

Magic is Black and white—
Love makes illusion—a reality.
And turns reality into a sham.

Drizzling and whistling noises of a river...
Shore wants to keep the waves
But he can't—
For letting go is freedom...

What notes does my guitar have?

E - Elated tunes in my mind
B - Buzzing and adoring you all the time.
G- Giving my songs a melodious destiny
D- Do me a favour, listen to this symphony.
A -All chords lie within these strings - fretting free.
E- Emanating a heartfelt melody.

Three words—
One line.
Temperance's quest
I had never imagined
How hard it'd be...
To ask—Will you be mine?

Excited yet scared
I put this note in my favourite book.
Imagining and laughing.
In my hallucinations - I watch your gaze.

The one with both answers—
Unimaginable anger
Yet that smiling hook.

Contemplating my fears, and my blessings
With shivering hands;
I finished those lines —four
I don't know about this lover boy's fate.
But to you and only you
He has lost his soul.

Excuses, decoy—
Just to talk to you...
I planned a plot.
Playin' with my own heart
Like a toy—

Never said the things I wanted to.
Then why do I still want to?

A rhythm displaced.
I racked my love for you.
My logic is misplaced.

Messy, messier are now my longings.
I just carry your memories
I have lost my thoughts, my belongings.

Now, the calming art of pottery
Is no help to me...
Rubbing the spoiled clay
With a rolling pin.
Pain— the ultimate destroyer
has played its part.
Unhealing wounds feel like
the fire in the land of Troy.

Finding happiness...
Is it really a thing to find?
Is it a thing to feel?
Is it a person, place or a thing?
A wearable item
That adorns your soul—unseen.
Or a pilgrimage or a journey?
You already know what I mean.

Finding happiness...
Maybe just a conversation—
Between you and me—
Or just to watch you
From a place afar—
I imagine us near that sea.

What is happiness?
Is it something reliable?
Something viable?
Or your immersive trance—
A temporary glance.

A fluke, maybe.
Here, I end my ode to this rhyme.
Leaving this question still undefined.
What is happiness?
Perhaps—
A smiling moment in our timeline.

Every time I watch you...
It still feels like a first time—
I am beyond excitement.
While you are busy with your work, your job, your time,
I am busy jotting these verses.
The inadvertent sign—
Even though I want to say what my heart wants to—
I blurt out something *******.
Choking up; just saying something that I shouldn't say
I am not shy but I am out of sync.
And the only way to convey myself is
Spilling this ink—
Am I out of my way?
Did I ever make your heart sway?
I know it's a difficult wish—
Let the world do its rounds.
I just want you to stay.

Maybe the sunset assured
tears to dry...
what’s been lost—just won’t revive.
Brutal, yet subtle—this smell of coffee.
Yes, that’s the ingredient to survive.
  
Till the last sip—
Thoughts -Vulnerable didn't lose their grip.
After your tears met your smile—
Stronger, yet bland
You took that angelic stance—
This fading sunset longing for the sunrise.
Perhaps! Another cup of coffee is enough—
To be alive.

Mystical stories—
Yet undeniable
Some heartfelt derivations- unshakable
I whispered to these clouds  —my  heart's desirable.
You may feel them soothing...
If you can feel the weather—the language of divinity
My flow of thoughts is forming an unusual fable.

Will you accept or will you drop...
Essence of this honeydew
Dripping down
Drop
By
Drop
A hit song for the feelings flop
Unwailing outcry-
I don't know why it doesn't stop....

Different from the files of my computer's screen
I stored some feelings in my nervous scheme
Boxes of thoughts pinned with notes—
My point of view.

A folder of love—
A folder for an Altruistic nudge.
Some scrapped thoughts; not to be judged.
I have deleted all files related to grudge.
Thoughts—never fully brained.
Still stored; for the season of rain

Some longings, some unknown fleetings.
Completing the circuit yet questioning.
Hey–What you are thinking?

While my face works like a sand clock
Eyes swingings to and forth- tick-tock.
From something dreadful to something nice.
This muscular something store everything
Each and every vibe—

Why am I still in mid-air?
Do you think it is fair?
For my flair of love—
Is intense and red.
Holding my unbearable thoughts
Up in my head...
If you feel the same,
Then knock me out.
I will squeal like a penguin—
Declamation is out.

Jokes, yes, those lame ones—
I will say all over again
Just to make you smile.
I will take that blame.
Rain, O gloomy rain,
Thanks for pouring yourself out.
I will now meet you in my dreams—
Over and out!

I imagine you embracing
That sunlight which was dying to get in
From your room's window—
It became brighter after you removed the curtains.

I envy and I adore—
The bookmark when you hold it in your hands
As you place it back in among the pages of your stories.

I imagine—
That coffee would taste —so blessed.
As it moved very courteously through your throat.

Those petals, those flowers
That you keep twirling between your fingers.
Look more gracious than before—

Are you that lyrical ballad?
Which my fingers long to write.
But my lips tremble to whisper.

What should I write more?—
To tell you
What my heart wants to tell?
Suddenly my heart has made my life like a theatre
And I am an actor, a loner
Dancing to your tunes

Unable to wake up from this dream
Yes, this is my dream —of you
By you; for you.
My dream is you

Frayed dews on trees,
Different hues in the sky.
O Divine,
I kneel before you—
And only you,
Till the end of my breathing rhyme.

With this reflection on the past
To seek the future,
Admiring both—
Dullness and contrast.

From tormenting whirlwinds
To silent rains that shower
Music and fragrances—
I return to my path,
Walking alone, but I am with you.
Sensing the incense of these flowers,
Bloomed by the wise dews.
I stayed in memory for hours.

As guided by the time,
Written on rocks, papers, and stones—
The metaphors, riddles, ballads, and lyrics of you,
Or any other yet efficient rhyme.

Ghazals with rhythm
Or a pictured haiku—
Life is a poem indeed.
Explaining the context,
Lost among mysteries,
I bestow myself
To the greatest writer—
Creator of all.

In your servitude, I am
A knight; a student; a slave.
Whatsoever I am,
In you, with gratitude,
I find my peace

Would this be the end?
Where you leave me astray, with feelings of you—
Engraved on my tombstone.

I have been with you—
Strange it is, but alone.
I’m now in the habit of hearing your songs
With only one plug.
The other hums the tune,
Remembering you on my other side,
Where your hand once held my arm—
Tightly.

I know these rhymes—
These ambivalent notes I write—
They are not new.
Some speak in gestures,
Some speak in verbs.
Sitting on this bench near the lake,
I feel on my toe a different tide—
A different ebb

I see every passerby’s face—
Familiar with you…
Or, to say it better, like a maniac does,
I see only you.
Only you.

You say, “It’s one-sided.”
You’re right.
Because I’ll always stand —
On the side where you are.

I know I won't hear your voice—
Calling my name from behind,
Like it used to...

But still I hear those whispers.
Whispers that make my words tremble—
Now, only in gestures
I repeat the silent vespers.

I know I have lost you.
But maybe just for a few moments.
My heart doesn't want to summon this defeat.
Kneeling down
On this deserted land—
Unable to put your name out of mind.
Like a sage enchants the mighty grace,
I say it on repeat.

How strange it is—
A seeker never gets a glimpse of the swan.
But a reckless peasant sees them everywhere.

Once you stop moving aggressively and take cautious, calm steps,
You’ll begin to see their glimpses all around.

The question is:
How can a seeker turn himself back into a peasant?
Has love turned him into something else?

How strange it is—
In life, we keep running to achieve; to gain; to find; or to discover
Running in and Running out—
Only to lose our souls and the time — it runs out.
A swan unaware—
There was a seeker once who kept her as a reverie
To the grave.
Strange again yet a dearly held reverie.

Perhaps! I keep falling for you...
I keep breaking my heart for you..
For my feelings are boundless—
Perhaps! This love is designed for a loop
I will keep building the castles of dreams
And you will keep bursting them with fierce gleam

Perhaps!  I am not the Romeo that you want
But you are the Juliet that I need.
These breaking lines—
Don't follow a pattern of repeat.
Perhaps! Your touch was just a touch.
But my nerves, my sense felt them too much.
Beyond the definition of touch.

My fear is not to die alone
That is certain,
But is to live in the crowd
Where I cannot call anybody my home.
Perhaps! Not to call is destiny.
Maybe I am that unlucky among many.

You feel the world;
Did you ever feel?
The collusion; My heart's reverb.
Here I am standing on this bridge
Of this renowned suburb.

In this darkness,
I am hovering under this dim light.
You are named as the daughter of the Dew.
Or crowned a  princess of rain instead—
And I?
No meaning, Just a name —
Poorest among all - the peasant face
As in the stories — the gloomy chase.

Walking on this wooden ridge,
Waiting for that angelic smile,
Waiting for that heavenly face.

How to be with you?
Can I be among those few
Yes, the ones
Who always get a chance to meet you.

I know now, why those poets laughed at me.
And called me as wise among the fools
I adore you but I hate this one sided love
A Spiteful tool.

I am just blessed with some stories  
Some are true but felt like imagination.  
Some are imagination but they feel like the truth  
An unusual journey; An unusual troop  
Cold breezes caressing your face.  
But I feel warmth from your words  
That reaches me after echoing in the wood.  

This palm tree has put his foot down.  
Determined to find you—  
Fighting that stormy cloud.  
Sun waits for the rise—  
Let us say about the real love.  
Even if it is not advised by the wise.  

Far and beyond—  
Yes, the poet's favorite phrase...  
Did I miss that horizon.  
Where life was not to chase.  

I am not a cheat, presumed by a lie..  
Just a traveller with a tear ached eye.  
Heavy heart, slow start..  
But still bowing to this journey.  
Like that angel of morning star.  
Hmm. The angel of morning star.

What Are Photos to Poetry?

I asked this question to myself many a time.
Is it me, or do all photos hum a rhyme—
Choirs of imagery singing together,
Emotions now, all around me, they start to gather.

Laughter chattering with tears and amuse,
Anger and logic—arguing.
I am out, but not confused.

Shoulders on shoulders,
A hand in hand.
I am watching hilarious metaphors,
A settling sun, and a captured angelic moonrise.

Sitting on a bench by the railway ridge,
Drenched by raindrops.
After this long flicker on my glowing screen,
Holding my shop of dream,
I laid my book on that bench—
Reveled in,
watching a paper writing through my hand.

My hands stained with ink.
While I was wondering about the world,
Without a wink.

To cater and build a bridge
From my mind to that wisdom ridge,
To find the unfound.

Away and mystical —
A fact astound.
Similar like in the movies,
The folklore and those daunting stories for newbies.

Fables of magic and justice.
Some lines about flowers being combustive.
Have you heard a story of an electrifying
Thunderbird?...

Dreamy stains of blue took me to an unknown land —
Land without pain, untouched by disdain.
A place as stated in our religious sect.
A place from where pyramids and temples found their way to *****.

Far from this fence and away from this trap —
A world of worlds where universe is not full,
But just a piece — an abstract.

What is pain?
To abstain or to retain.
A feeling to let out, or to restrain.
A fruit, or a nuisance — a disdain.
Nurturer of strength, or destroyer of sanity.
Driver, or the conductor of vanity.
The propeller of wounds and scars.
The beginning, or the end, of my emotional or my physical wrath.
What is pain?
A metaphysical being who lives in my reality;
who dwells in my dreams.

I was thinking about this
So far so long.
We have seen choices – our whole lifelong.
Except the fact of religion and birth,
God has given power to us to live in a mirth.
On this heavenly earth — I met you not by choice,
but by fate.
And now, I choose my feelings, subtle and straight.
That like sunshine cannot brim without a sun,
like air cannot caress your skin without a breeze,
I can't be me without you.
Maybe this choice is a mistake;
perhaps there won't be a retake.
However — this overflown cup of longings
aches me and pushes my fingers to write and slide —
this note.
A note that you will never see.
A note that you might hate.
A note — symbol of us being apart; if not together.
I am lost, but present in this world,
with my story whirled up and around — yet unheard.

I saw Time standing at the corner of my room.
He was watching me—writing this poem,
Witnessing my mistakes and metaphors allure to doom.
He exactly knew what I was going to write:
The final act, the audience's reaction, and all things accompanying this sect.
Still, like a silent teacher, he didn’t react.
I had to address my fault with not-so-wholesome tact.

It acted like a father, watching my every move.
It always knew when I would be awake, and when I would snooze.
Even when things harmed me, it let me choose;
He didn’t tell me the answers to my quest—
Whether it was about my growth, journey, or a silly love test.

I bow my head to my teacher—this testing Time.
Gratitude to all which was phased by Time.

You speak of languages,
but the heart knows only one.
Believe me—if I say it in mine,
you will feel it in yours.
For you are not someone who’s one in a million,
you are the one who’s one in a lifetime.

I wish I could be the same for you.
Maybe I could have lived in your palm—
like one of the useless lines near your lifeline.
These hiccups I get while writing about you—
I hope they are true signs of missing you.

What more should I say?
Words are slacking out of my mind—
every time, every verse, every rhyme.
I confess the same old crime.
The church, the chapel, and the altar—
they only hear the prayers;
they never imprison me or ask me to serve my time.

Unforgiven, forbidden love—
I am only left with your memories,
like soot that flows through the coalmine.

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.

What does the Diary Say?
I am your uncalled thoughts,
Your theory of unspoken why's and what's.
I am your pain; I am your heart,
A story of your mindful seed.
From your mourns to the moments — the ones upbeat,
Your rhythm, your pulse, your time, your verse.
I am a custodian of time.
I record your fiery and the incident-weary.
That's the reason you always say —
"I am your diary."
The "Dear Diary".

Things that I couldn't say...
Things that are still inside of me...
So many things to convey.
I will miss you till the end of May.
My thundering and raining nights
And my beaming summer days—
Misty spectacles—
Over my tear-dried eyes.
Deserted by my deceiving emotions.
Now, I don't remember my intent, my notion,
Displaying my dismay—
I will miss you till the end of May.
What's in May? You might wonder!
You will remember, if you push yourself a little.
If you ponder—
Last year, they were my most memorable days.
I will miss you till the end of May.
Fresh memories, wrapped in my joyful pain.
Yes, I am mad, and I am insane.
With whimsical heart, I was betrayed.
I will miss you till the end of May.

Astrological stars aligned for me and you
Should I write what I feel for you—
A long essay or a three-word phrase?
Believe me, it’s not a fling and it’s not a phase.

Let’s cut down this chase.
I know you’ve been hurt before,
But I won’t let you down for sure.
I want just you...
And only you for sure...

Can you feel the cool breeze amid this scorching summer?
I know what you're thinking—
'Another love poem, what a ******!'
I’m certainly off the imagery,
For my creative senses are bounded by thoughts of you.

Oh! Love this slavery,
Like a knight gets rewarded for his bravery.
I’m unable to end this unending rhyme for sure.
I want you,
And only you for sure...

"Will I have her or not?" I asked the universe.
It replied, "Well... that’s a tough spot."
I suddenly felt hot beneath this cot—
A cot woven with your dreams, your love.
There’s a reason the symbol of love is the white dove.
"What’s the point," it said, "if I make your love achievable?"
I shouted, "It’s making my life miserable!"
Tick-tock clock is running like a mystery,
Remembering your face from dusk till dawn—
Are my longings meant only to become a history?

Or should I expect something magical?
The universe tackled that question and said,
"I’m placing your stars—tactical."

Things that look ambiguous will clear the air
And bring you back in your full senses.
There’s no need to fret over your tenses.
Though I’m not taking any offenses—
See for yourself, and take your chances.

Bill and coo birds are singing songs—
A prayer for your love’s gleaming glances.

Now I know your perspective.
I am a true believer of you—
Maybe a useless one—an unknown adjective.
Within this life; in this new frame of time.
I learn something beyond my experience—
Yes, that is your rhyme.

A rhyme or I say a call of a contender.
That touches my thoughts with a rare comfort and tender.
Am I only feeling this?
Why I breathe fragrances of lavender?

Tougher verbiage of a different kind.
Holier than thou I felt, when I read your verses.
Your rhyme—

I forgot that I am a lyric seeker too!
Reading, speaking, and repeating your verses.
Creating melodies—
Tapping my fingers on this table
A different beat, a magical tune.
I cannot explain myself now to you.
In words a few.

For the moments that own me,
For the moments — away from my game zone.
I will stand against you;
Against this screeching moan.
I am done with your noises,
I am done being atoned.
I have a designated path.
I've now understood that I have to walk alone.
Many events have scarred my back—

Like a tree with withered shingles of age.
One can see the blame and the shame.
Without me to err, this world shuns my name.

I am resolute, I am resolve—
I am now up and above,
Away from this untuned world’s jingles,
Away from anything that twinkles.

Shimmers and the shine—
I don't owe them a penny or a dime.
I owe myself to the rhythm divine.
I am determined.
I will make my comeback,
Piercing the veil, breaking the shackles.

This world will celebrate me with booming crackers.
Yes — with booming crackers.

Once someone wise said,
"Your real dreams won't let you sleep."
And in my dreams I see you —
and then I can't sleep.

Does it mean? — are you for real?
Is my love really sacred?
Am I your Arthur?
Are you my Margret?
Or is it just a fancy fable of 5th grade?

Giggles, snuggles — a child's dream in a bubble.
And your frolic nag — a game of tic tac.
And me? I don't know how to react.

I told your name to my mother.
If you say, should I act further?

Why these heavy rains always take your side?
Whether I am drenched in rain or love.
Did you see that symbol?
Yes! The white dove.

Be my confidant, be my life.
Let's take this step forward —
not for the sake of us, but just be a part of something nice.

Let's surprise this world, by living this moment.
A rendition, a reprise.

A door ...
That wooden door...
Would you open it for me?
Together, let's explore the world.
Would you like to feel the city's allure?

Among fishes, among butterflies...
Are you still searching?
Let's search it together – the meaning of life.

Up and above in the blue sky,
Let's feel the flight of the birds.
Let's ride them like wild horses.
Beyond the who, the what, and the why,
Let's dive like dolphins,
Underneath the brimming summer,
Feeling the hot breeze skimming water,
Pacing over that cold sand
Like an Olympic runner...

Just beyond that door—
Gazing with my eyes,
Far and wide.
Still searching?
Then let's search it together – the meaning of life.

A thought that waved through me.
As those sea animals sailing in that pond,
woe returned to me—
My perched state upon that tree.
Apart from my loneliness —which was on a spree.
I talked my world to the beings with no voices.
'Brurr brurr' was the only answer,
But with sound reasons and no noises.

I tried to calm myself, Iike water does.
Just listening to the hisses,
Which gills do.
I asked questions which were fishy gibberish.
The fishes replied to me,"Do you even know English?
The lost is gone but through hope it can be found.
Treasure those memories even if you don't feel like sticking around.
For those reverend moments,
Are part of your fate, your destiny—

Your living story is just a dot in this universe.
Maybe you used to be a romeo either in past or in any other multiverse.
A Romeo of dreams.
A Lover boy...
And an idiot who talks to nature.
Was it a fleeting or a misadventure?

Talkative fishes now, swam to the other side.
Leaving me alone with my story.
But with hope towards that bright light.
Little more gibberish
Little more garbage.
will you write with me?