What does the wind say?

I am a companion of the rain.
I will caress your adoring
ephemeral pleasures
and disdain—

A messenger who conveys;
Not in words, but by touching your nerves,
your senses.

When you find me snowy or dry,
Flaming hot, or cool and sly,
I am a saviour of your fire,
Who twirls the storms
higher and stronger.
Yet eminent slayer
Of this humble flare.

I came into this moment—a fickle spirit
to endure longer.

For I am just a medium,
A follower of the one who
Dwells in you—
The one who blooms the earth—
from the sky.

For life;
We came on earth,
To try what would be.
Gloominess or mirth.
An overwhelming response
of nature.
Or wrath set forth
To be living and let live.

Every form of life,
Green, blue, white and brown.
We all know these pronouns—
They are
bound by stories intertwined,
strange and similar,
as outcomes align.

I am writing a free verse
Not because I am out of rhyme.
But for the cause of disruption
That you feel;
When you think about time.

Time - the unpreached
lord of everything.
A ghat road;
which aligns and declines
Your destiny.

Destiny which is only known to
your ticking wrist watch.
A metronome,
Teaching you beats
to dance.
To reach your purpose
still undefined.
Moving arms of this
Motionless time.

I watched your smart pretences.
A good move....you upheeved in me
Some cute nuances.

For those elegant times.
That still stand tall
in my mind.
They feel like a recent news
of an ancient time

When pharaohs were the prime—
High regards to the rulers of lover's shrine.

Do you remember?
that library of arts and history.
Which had a book—
Titled, "We decide our own destiny".
Was it a one on mystery?

A mystery - that made me
think, like a patient old guy
Taking a sigh,
I asked the silence—
Will we ever cross paths
Anytime soon?

Or should I again,
wait for that fateful red moon.

I hope it made you smile..
That sun pretends to be a moon
My apologies,
just want to say afternoon.

This pretentious, charismatic
thought of mine.
Will care; not for once
But lifelong - a shortest
span of clocked time—

Share with me your trouble—
Like those witches,
maybe I too,
can make that cauldron bubble.

Away would be
those displeasures
If you ever read
my nine words rhyme
Believe me—
There would always be the sunshine.

How love dwells in silence?
Sitting together on a quiet table—
How someone understands the other
Without the other expressing its choice.

How does a hand gesture care?
Without calling it out...
Why does it feel like a folklore?
Do fancies happen?
answered, yet unsaid.

Chewing my expression
Like a gum without any sweetness.
I saw something unexplained
an astonishing awareness

Gulping my heart deep down
Missing my morning crown
It wasn't a fancy town
But still was—
a town of dreams.

That I am left with—
some faded echoes;
Mixtaped memories.
Just get along — then move on.

Perhaps! It was meant to be.
Maybe! That's why they say
See the world the way it meant to be...

No pressure; only vibes
Living the predictable-
Yet ever changing life.

With a coffee steaming hot,
He pours down his caffeinated thoughts...
Notions about love and life—
Cutting the edge like a vegetable knife.
Whistling off the pressure
from this sizzling ***...
He puts down those delicious wedges
on a plate.

A dream, a muse
A crop with an edible seed,
And some seasoning - straight.
A culinary of a different delight.
A similar taste, yet variety in spice

An old radio—
On a modern slab.
Unusual cutlery - a chopstick and a fork.
Like instruments of a chemical lab.

A pan shimmering songs of beatles.
Romeo lyrics with onion in julienne
Tomatoes calling "Hey Jude"
Oil burns them softer...
Till the prelude.

Stressing away the chilli—
With those spicy words,
And with the pinch of longings.
Enhancing the taste—

The south curry is ready
to be served
Tasters in awe...
Asked me the novice.
The know and how—

It was a recipe
Crafted by heart
My journey towards you
Took an appetizing start.

This rain has now stopped pouring.
After getting me drenched to the core
This rain has now stopped pouring.
After Scenting fragrances of this soil
Like an ephemeral scene
Filling it pore to pore
This rain has now stopped pouring.

After teaching my heart how to thunder
This rain has now stopped pouring
After giving a sweet dream of you
A home that dwells in me
My heart instills...
To play with this puddle—
May this rain pour more on me.

So this was love
Among the stars, yet not very far.
Different but it was ours—
Different fleetings moments—unaware.
Different lines.
Without saying the reality.
Some random lines
Some dreams to share.
A book of 50 pages
Beads of wisdom, memories
And reverie...
A thing concealed cleverly
Since ages.

So this was love.
Hand in hand...
No words uttered.
Something to understand.
Gesture spoke their saying
In the language of silence...
Tides to flow—
Nothing to withstand.

A flute played a scenery.
A brush drew a song.
Absurdity felt
But we moved along—
Different paths
Towards same heart—

So this was love...
It was like a candle.
It breathes and melts
To enlighten and emit
the burning light.
For the people — in dark.

Why did roads get tired?
Why do they always keep moving?

Unbothered and indifferent—
About the weather's play...
Why are they oblivious to this relay?

Everybody watches...
But nobody feels.
Maybe they do!
Yet hide it - to heal.

Rain is moderating
his story and his cry.
A visibly audible outcry.

Jumbled droplets
on crumpled leaves

We missed the alchemy—
Turning soil into clay.
Are marshlands meant
just for toddlers to play?

My soul stays alone.
Lost in time.
Will somebody ever notice me?
or would I only live
in traces that faded.

Like it always happens,
in memory of time.

Hope you are ok?
A flower from the garden fay.
A quest so common
I hold an unusual answer
to say.
Hope you are ok!
My troubled mind—
Has so much to convey...
Yes! I am trying to be ok..

I used all my imagery.
From all those things which move—
To all those which are stationary.
To tell you this—

Near that cliff,
Of that ghat road.
I was thinking about you.
Weighing down my heart.
I push this heaviness
Off the board.

Though I know,
My ears are still wet
from behind...

Is this an old school fleeting
Scribbled on a telephone diary—
Of the modern-medival time.

Reading your hymes
With a sunflower
Feeling that musical rhyme.

Have you ever witnessed.
Storm and summer at the same time.
That's what's happening inside my mind.
Yes I am okay...
When I am in  reverie
I see your shrine.

Crystal castle of magical spells.
Unbothered by the winds that swell
Windows watched shadows-two;
Near that well.
I am dying in love...
A heaven like hell.
In the name of spirit.
I called upon—
A being antique.

It whispered
I saw that lyrical queen—
In the banquet – a musical unrest
I saw something unexplained.
A Soul -unfounded
My heart ready to exchange.

Music acted a theater—
The hall vetoed in its favour.
Violins on the beats
Trumpets on the strum.
Drums were the lead
The singers to hum...

Then, in a minutes few.
Flowers gazed —
The spectacular you.
Those shadows danced
Their heart out.
Without wearing their shoe.

No space;
On my scratched paper
And,
What to post more.
In these letters new.
Bygone is not gone.
Thy heart;
I melt for you...

On that rock...
I sat near the sea
Splashing water — salty and sour.
I saw your face—
In a way;
Not to hold you forever
But to feel you,
my restless feelings
Move to and fro
Like waves upon the shore—

I wrote your name over the sand...
Smiling crab crawled
All over the written land.
Flowers, pebbles,
Shells of pearls.
Wet clay
Brought back my love
Yearning —enlightened.
Yet submerged.

If roots were never buried;
trees would never grow.
If mountains were never tall;
Snow over them would never fall.

I have seen water flowing out like
Hidden fountains from the crevices
What am I to you?
What is Autumn to Fall?

Rivers, Ponds, lakes
All have your reflection.
What would be my role
In your life?

A thought that haunts me.
Like a social feed—
In my mind, it keeps to scroll.

Village roads accompany the farms
On the side.
Creating a painting for the creative.
Artist with a brush...
Am I the colour
Or just a crumpled paper
That you put me aside?

Unfettered— you want to be.
Though you have chained me
In my own thought.

A despair, A disguise.
A mountain scenery—
Where the sun settles itself.
Among these clouds in the sky.
Someday, will you tell me the difference
Between roots and sky?
To stand grounded
Yet to fly high

Sitting in this play room
I visualise these settings,
Googling my eyes around,
A place — Radder,
A flitted thought—
I am just a ladder.

Will you climb over me
And live your dreams?
Would you mind,
If I were to call you by
Tomorrow's dusk?
Or should I think
We are bound to dust?

Am I just a fluke
That you pitched but didn’t hit?
What am I to you—
A carrom coin to flick.

I know all that above is not true.
Overwhelmed with my own guilt
And mistakes a few,
I put my rue in your heart.

This faceless August
Rampaged our start.
I know I fall for you—
And that is true...

Sneaky fakes inbound.
Bleached love is now aghast,
Like a drink of husk.

For the mornings slow.
When your heart plays a gloomy show.
This thrill blends with comedy...
When the sun rains down the snow—
Did you ever see traffic among the clouds?
Honking thunder pretty loud.
Stars being the traffic pole
Twinkling symbols to move;
Not to stand and make a pout.
Imaginative love flew together
Beneath the sky—
Golden wings glitter with light.
scooping air like ice.
Spring water flowing through
I saw fishes dance in a pond;
Sweetened with honey dew.
I watched shakespeare scribbling a netflix
Show...
Fast but not furious—
A musical of a pro.
Again in dream...
I slept in reality
Zoning in, yet away from regularity...
My mind bleeds longings
My heart talks logic in brutality.
I am breathing a different kind of versatility.
Lines break like snowflakes.
Soul aches;
Did you find something annoying?
It is my poetic personality...

Travelling in a cab
On that dark night—
We drove on a road
which did move along with us.
Side to side
Left to Right.
Watching shadows of the crying rain.
Sobbing on the glass of those windows
The overwhelming nature's refrain.

The image was only visible to the light passing by...
I was sitting with passengers- two.
While the winds were gossiping their rue
Trying to read my old novel;
Adjusting my phone's faint light.
In that silence of the dark.
Which stood disturbed by the lightening spark.
I heard wipers swish, steady and strong.
Were they whispering your name all along?

How they knew that I was hiding myself
In those sentences?
The thrilling commas, those dreamy tenses.

Unable to gauge
my home from my lenses.
Dear Heart, how these weak eyes will measure
Our chances from her fleeting glances?

I travelled back into those moments lived.
Hidden cells within my stained heart.
Pushing wheels up the hill.
My Drizzled thoughts— I watched them swinging
Up and down on a windmill.

By the time
I could scribble my mind's tangled epiphany
I reached my home and deboarded the cab.
Waving off to my unfinished symphony.

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."