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?

Drenched in the memory
Of you...
I mimic you to feel close to you.
In this drama,
in the theatre of my dreams
I act badly...
I lost you- my audience, sadly
Sitting next to this window.
The rain cries with me.
I think it was in love with you madly.
Sipping my cup of tea.
Reliving that moment,
The one when you set my soul free.
I know you hate my name.
Do I somehow bring you shame?
Apologies for my heritance,
A legacy of pretense and pain
For being less than what you've  became.

Mocking that chandelier up in the sky.
He was also hanging lonely like me—
Knowing that,
We gave each other high five!

Disgusting the concept of love and longings.
We both were losers, half trained players
Who now live in disguise.

Perched on a tree like birds do—
I was sitting near that pond.
Being the best critics for every dove couple.
In that cafe, they were sharing their feelings all along.

Looking at those fishes,
Before starting my rantings that I learnt by heart.
A fish yelled at me, hey! You idiot, What's wrong?
Surprised and confused—
I lost my expressions
I lost my fuse
Whether I felt disgust or in awe?
What was that outlaw?

Then she asked, "Are love poems meant to be hidden?
Then why are they supposed to be written?.
A sudden thought popped up in her mind.
Why do you hide your thoughts from me?
There is a fault in your design

Maybe it is just you, not them
Who lives in his own false notion.
You are a victim of your own dreams.
You're totally out of proportion.

Love is a game of divinity,
Just out of brevity.
Let me define— it is a game of giving it all.
Not to receive.
It is not a post to resign.
It is not a post to resign."

They wrote your love poems
On the walls of Taj.
A monument,  once reigned by love raj.
A reverie of my own dream.
Did you notice that natural spotlight on our dancing queen?
The grooves, the moves.
Those twisted gestures.
For a bit longer, for this dream—
Longer I snooze.

This time the picture was not vague.
My eyes seized your face.
Impressed and perplexed—
My overwhelmed emotions stirred my reflex.
Unknowingly I moved my hand towards you
Interrupting the rhythm, the flow.
Just to touch you.

Like bees attract to flowers
You mesmerized my soul—
Do we dance like lovers do?
Would it be true?—
Was it not a dream?—
Was it just me and you?

I wrote 199 poems just about you.
A discounted price tag—
People watched our movie,
With a ticket saying 1 by 2.
A motion picture of happiness tinged with rue.
Struggle, tears, excitement, and adventures new.
I wrote 199 poems just about you.

I wrote my dreams about you,
Adding mountains, valleys,
Who witness with me—my fleetings true.
All my poems just say about...
You, you, and you.

Yippee!
I wrote 199 poems just about you.

What does the longings say?

I am a memory.
A Lingering dream,
A gift from satan—
for being with a fairy.
You stay in me a bit longer than a moments few.
I am a reason for your happiness
In a shade of rue.
I live in your poems, verses and art.
Are you still writing one?.
I am ready to start.

Princess consuela banana hammock
The winner of X factor.
Beware she is a walking nuclear reactor.
Hitting that door,
"knock Knock".
She storms in, blissful havoc
With a handful of colourful rocks

You will hear her whispers,
Like a giggle of the ghost casper.
She is passionate and always in action
Unpredictable are her reactions

She sings with jasmine's sweetness
A bee's profound weakness.
She walks like ocean's waves
In front of her, intelligence of the world
Looks stupid and naive.

She mentors the universe—
With her art and verses.
A believer of Friends jingle.
After watching her these stars start to twinkle.

A pond keeper - an artisan of rocks.
Princess consuela banana hammock.

What does the trust say?

My rules are simple and threefold.
Take a deep breath, I will say the truth—
I won't be sneaky, I have nothing to hide.
There is nothing to hold.
Just ask me to go on to the mountain's peak and jump down.

Without a second thought, I'd leap.
Without scratching my crown.

You'd feel my adrenaline surge, that unyielding urge.
Even if I fail, I won't hold a grudge.

I will do it without any fear,
Without any utterance or a tear.

I have in you my tenacious faith.
I know, to us, defeat won't show his face.

With that belief in me, and belief in you,
My leap would be triumphant—
Just like the way, an ant killed an elephant—

It is not a reckless behaviour.
I know, you would be there to catch my fall, my saviour.

I was able to do it; not because of me
But because of you,
For I felt your soul's felicity — loud and clear.

Stick with your truth—
People will change eventually.
Don't ask for acceptance—
Stick to your facts firmly.

They will accept you as you.
But never by way of revolt and wrath.
Let your will stay humble and flourishing—
Stay with your ever-pulsing heart.
Stay with your experiences and desires.
For there would be some reason in you,
That God ignited that fire,
To let your wings fly higher.

Be it love, or in any other path.
Live your journey from the start.
Even if you fail to take a place in someone's heart.
Don't let the world inside of you fall apart.

Don't feel the burn.
Don't be afraid to bear those venomous flashes
Remember: Falcon always rises from its ashes.

She gives the best vibes
After all, she is queen of the beehive.
The fierce leader of the clan.
Her idealism on unity—
I am a big fan.

Imaginative and creative,
Engineers and architects learn from her narrative.
Though small it looks, the hive is home to many.
Built out of wax—
It didn’t cost them a penny.

Just some smiling flowers—
Some pollen, some grains.
A house protected by pointed stingers.
Don’t think them tiny or frail.

Buzzing and fussing—
No grudge, no fudging.
I adore bees and their hives.
Their Honeywell life—
Symbol of harmony,
Idol of strength.

Away from this world apart,
With sweetness in their heart.

Near those hills and valleys,
I saw you walking like a memory.
Yes! again I am writing a story of you
My delectable fairy.
Don't worry, it won't be scary.

Walking alone lost in your own thoughts
You didn't notice me.
Though I sat beside you,
In that boat, and on that ferry.

My troubled thoughts clamoured in a bubble.
I smiled when I saw you snuggle.
When I saw your face in a reflection, like one sees in  a mirror,
In the currents of that holy river.
Your longings consumed me like a love-fever.

Aggrieved grief I felt,
for you couldn't see the same.
Will you hold my arm again?
Let this passion burn.
Let it melt.

I heard those mountains echoing your name.
An anonymous fame.

What should I write further?
I have no thoughts in hand.
I am still angry with myself.
For my own pious thoughts I couldn't withstand.

Your heart was red and bright.
I didn't know, you stored something in it,
So black and white.
Now, hues feel my pain.
My uncontrollable disdain.

A bird was gazing at me,
Perched on a tree
And asked me, Hey! Unusual species!
Why do you sit here?
Did you lose your purpose?
Jump back up and capture the sky.
Capture your sunrise,
Race like a star—this is your sign.
Capture your sunset
Stay prepared, stay on the mark.
You'll reach that cloudy arc—
I fly with wings.
But believe me, I know the sky.
Even without your wings,
Your dreams can fly.

I may have stepped on my own rake.
I was trying to sow a seed of love in your land.
I giggle, I wonder.
By this act—so sly—
which raises a question: a why?
A why! Which seems to be an answer.
An answer for the feeling caused on that day,
when you said, "Hi."

An unconditional clause; always leading my breath to take a pause.
Without an audience and without an act,
am I a mad artist?
What are these applauses?
What is this pact?
Like a patient in an asylum, I react.
You pledged, "When you find your love, your 'ishq,' you won't leave it."
I have already found you.
When will you find me?
A relinquishment, a wish.

No words to write...
How should I express?
What feelings would suffice?
Tears and pain; now couldn't be healed.
When we suddenly found pieces of bullets and blood.
Served on a plate meant for Dal and rice.

In their ovens and woks.
They are now boiling hatred and false provoke.
The life-giving herbs are not real—
They are but camouflage of life ******* shrubs.

And what for?
for the call of Freedom which already prevailed.
Now, after this treacherous act,
Killing all innocents— now who would you hail?
You took away the city's soul —the prideful flair.
That day—when you washed off that sindoor.
And laid that coward's rattling snare—
a proclamation illegal and unfair.

Don't call yourself a human.
A human's job is to observe and care.
Don't call yourself a human
Don't you dare.

The pain,
the unravelled truth.
Avenged vermillion stayed awake
amid the peace-calling warcry.

Lost lives, lost souls.
Ashes burnt the happiness.
In coffins, they buried the dreams.
Smoke smells grave —
shelters piercing borders.
Stones pelting people,
an action naive.

We all have witnessed this immersive rain.
Do they always tell a story of disdain?
The fierceness and sadness intertwined —
an outcry of our testing time.

A soul for a soul.
The theme of warrior's vengeance.
A cyclic psychology.
A provoked retribution.

Perhaps something is above humanity.
Something is above divinity.
In brevity —
we forget the art of living.

“We stand as one.”
A phrase engraved on the holy ceiling.
But the truth is —
to us, it has no meaning.

Standing on a musing stage,
I heard a song of you—
It charmed me like a whimsical siege.
Here I stand with a guitar,
Much like that poster star.

The breeze, the aura—brightened flora.
Wands of notes.
Spells of lyrics.
Love is real, not a gimmick.
It is a wizard's trick,
From this real world to wonderland,
Hovering like a magical hero on a broomstick.

Magic is music—
Music is love—
Love is the act;
Witness nature's timid tact.
Hands swinging together,
That dance on the ring,
Swaying beats—
That groove, that heat.
Rhythmic percussion of love,
Melody of magic.
It is their play, their tapestry.
They are siblings of poetry.

What does the dream say?

I come to you to fulfill you.
How would you fulfill me?
That's the question.
What to do?

Think of me as your companion,
Pushing you out of the pavilion —
The rebellion —
Who keeps your nights awake.
Who shakes you and makes you race —

It could be a stage.
It could be a phase.
It could be an emotion that longs with your age.
I reside in you — your soul's purpose,
A dreamer's quest,
A worthy challenger to test.
Till you achieve it, take no rest.

Own each and every fight.
May you achieve all new heights.

What does the tree say?

I am whistling and rustling,
Harried by the wind’s hustling.
Even without moving I know this world’s folklore.
I am a weapon, I am a page.
I am the binder of this soil.
I am the protector of this stage.
Still humble, I am a home to many.
I served my duty by being a shade to a divine sage.

You still don’t understand my worth—
What to do?
Then there would be no earth.
I feel sorry for you.
Your creations, your stories,
Your verses, your dreams.
I will tell your glory still.
If you let me live…
If you let me live, that would be another story.

What you perceive — I perceive it too.
What you receive — I receive it too.
What you feel — I feel it too.
What you hear — I hear that too.
I have everything. But I don't have you.

Does it feel like we are a thousand miles away?
It's been days since I last saw you.
I do know what you have been through.
But still, blurred visions turn my heart grey.
Am I worthy? Will you stay?

Shallowness has deepened its roots in me.
I don't know what shall I do.
In this crowded world — without you.
There is nothing new.

I don't even remember, How longing feels like.
I don't even remember how alone I was, that night.
You freed me up in the air like a loose kite.
You must not bother this rhyme.
Just pouring my heart—
I am already out of sight.

Relishing noises but silently.
Fighting with my own thoughts violently.
Questioning my belief about myself fervently.
Nudging and judging—
Quest of my own journey.
This hailstorm is pouring over my soul ardently.

Tired from my own test.
My brain begged for some rest.
I closed my eyes.
And found your face.
Like in the movies of the west.
The reflection written on a holy sect.
The one which feels pleasingly nice
When a wound touches ice.

Healer heals the weak.
I heard there is no medicine for my heart's tweak.
No cure, no remedy!
I have become a real life comedy.
I am now a clown of the town
with a throne-less crown.
I am just a clown of the town.

It's astonishing but also the truth—
Tear drops are like memory cards.
Every drop tells a story.
A story of an untold worry.
Longings flown out from our eyes
I guess they were in a hurry.

I have a story too — the one unpublished.
Yes! the same melancholy —
The one outspoken, out in public
In worldly whispers you will hear our name.
Every street and every corner knows our fame.
I will be your storyteller.
But I won't paint a vivid picture
'Cause I am intrinsically timid—
slyness is my feature.

The imagery, the context
Conjoined on a similar vertex.
Similar to your eyelashes — a horizon
Where sadness meets happiness,
Heart meets longings, and
Dreams meet reality.

You can't stop the burning imagination
Let your spirits explore the moves and the sensations.
Find your true soul by grooving on this sacrament
Build the bridge towards this angelic temperament.
You will find a way to reach your golden dream.

Hope these harmonic beats find you.
May this storm find stillness
Away from this mayhem
Up and above this abyss
Beyond the limit and all the bias.
May the peace find you.

I won even by losing the battle.
Wrestling with my own spirit.
Still I wish it to be.
That in some other world —
In some other multiverse —
I will say, I finally find you.

Even if this world breaks me in a million pieces,
I will stand as one for you.
Any impending doom near us—
Let it be—
I will stand strong for you.
I will be the one for you—

In my dreams,
In my memories,
In my life,
I still witness this splendid scene.
I see a face, indescribable and undefined.
Your face — the mirror image of the moon's reverie.
The curation of world's beauty —
A scenic design;
The one I prayed for, each and every time!
You are a proclaimed soul —
Famed for kindness among all heavenly shrines.

The one who has now become the strength of my spirit,
Strength of my life—

In every poet's poetry,
They define you with a sense of ambiguity,
Losing their senses, their serendipity.
You are that question — unsolved;
The mystery,
Undeciphered by our literature or history.

Even though you are not the one for me,
I will be the one for you —
Who will always stand by your side,
Till the end of infinity,
Till the end of time.

Let us stand a little and see.
Let's do it the way you want it to be,
like you embrace this serenity —

the peaceful fragrances of the flowers,
fumes of sand dunes,
the tunes of love and integrity.
They stand in a singular landscape.

How can I forget?
How can I escape?
I don't do tricks,
I didn't start to play.
It's just what the world wants to relay.

In your silent songs, you say it's over.
It still feels like the beginning.

If your heart turned back, even once,
I will surrender my soul to you —
in a way similar to
dusk and dawn yielding to light.
They form our days,
they form our nights.

Let us take together one more chance.
Let's live the best of our lives.

I know these lines feel a bit gibberish —
your love makes me feverish.
No senses, no logic —
now, I can't stop my feelings.

Scribbling down some unraveled lines,
in hope of that moment,
the moment when I will call you mine.

Traveling in this haunting noon.
Drenched in my own sweat.
I still step forward—
Just to see your face, a glimpse of you.
The distance between us.
Will come closer by each breath.

In my every travel, towards or a drift away for home.
I wait on you.
My chase, my fleeting race
My lifelong craze—
Whether up or down a phase
I long for you.
Now, my soul is for you
Every beat of my heart is for you.

Songs in the cab
Ads featured on my tab .
My every headline is you.

In the waiting hall of this airport
I watched readers, some whistling music listeners.
I heard some gossips — the untold whispers.
Still in every face I see you, I imagine you

For me, the girl listening to music on her pod is you
The guy reading the Alchemist is you.
The ******* the phone is you,
Picture ******* the water bottle is you,
The ******* my heart is you.

I bought a book called Dreamland.
To stay away for a bit from this notion—
From your wonderland.
I gulped a lemon tea like a potion.
But I couldn't stay away,
For in every word I read,
Is a word about you,
The ******* my heart is you.
The ******* my heart is you.

I know I shouldn't do this rhyme
Howsoever, I won't stop my pen this time.
Do you know a girl who knows about both
Fun and duty?

She is the one who mentors beauty.
The one who gives creation - A new aviation.
The one who finds her strength in Innovation.
Is she the one with fierce red hair?
Yes! the one with an antique flair.
The one who is blunt in words but cares with action-
A new definition to the word attraction.

Just a FYI

The day she will read these lines
This world will record my pity, my fate.
A flimsy reaction of which—
IMDb's rating would be above eight.
I know if I dare these lines-
An Angelic face
And a soul divine

The girl I am talking about
Will blast me with a landmine

Still I will do—

Because I witnessed the best.
Oh! I rhymed it long.
My trembled fingers now should rest

The word is in the air
This world now adores
The fierce woman with red hair.

Wavy heatwaves—
Hot yet dry wind touches your face
Chirping birds sitting in their cloudy nest.
Giggles and laughter of the kids.

Under the Beaming Sunglade—
Playing a game, clothes full of dirt
And shouting — peaking loud.
If you imagine this picture
Sitting in your office shade
That's the vision of summer vacation
A memory that never tends to fade.

Wearing chappals bigger than your feet
You felt gigantic,
Like you did a herculean deed.

A time when Imagination was a toy,
We all played with.
Rocketing a pencil with mom's hair band.
Fixed between our tiny fingers.

Having 2 Rupees in our pocket
Oh! That's a fair tip.

And our dad's tummy used to act like an airstrip
Where, us—the idiotic tiny tots— land their paper planes
We cracked jokes with him
Yes! I remember they all were very lame.

How strange it is!!
Today's introverts and extroverts
Back then we were all the same.
Shy, quiet, naughty
And with a little bit of might.

Working under this comforting conditioned air.
Disregarded—
Tell me—
Does it seem fair,
Why I still feel like that summer vacations were cool?
Tiny hands together in that breezy air.

It feels like it's raining.
Since it is now a ritual
That I cried for you.
Perhaps ! you did it for someone else.

I find watershed in my eyes.
Similar to - these leaves of erika,
The way they embrace the rain dew.

Mist on the window's glass.
A symbol of Ardas
That we prayed together.
Blooming petals for this proclaimed beauty—

A flower born in our garden
Futility turned fertile.
A Land— barren
Found its greenish sign.

To gain a smile.
There is always pain—
Unuttered and forbidden—

The pain which has become a perennial suffering.
This seasonal rain can't wash away my thoughts
I wear them in my cufflinks

Imagery imagined from cloudy sun
I see a face vaguely but
Pious and pure like the smell of this brewing tea.

I can write this poem—all day long
About my pain and this engulfing rain.

But I will save it for upcoming season.
I am storing some tears for upcoming rain.