What is Chaos?

Having a baffling thought
Which leads mind to rot.
An argument with self
To get your best book out of the shelf.

A searing term-
Impatience, indecision, anxiousness are in their  prime.
Even in the situation-sublime
Oh! I feel that pain.
That chemical change in my brain

To come out of this dark den-
You need a strong willed wrench.
To forge nerves for strength.
Strength to endure.
Strength to fight.
Strength to reignite your light.

Is this madness?
If you like the shelf where she once stood.

Is this madness?
If you still adore the tea —
the herbal one you never had.

Is this madness?
If you are tempted to brag
about the qualities that were never yours.

Is this madness?
If you feel a sense of safety
in the mask you never wore.

Is this madness?
When you admire everything of her
but nothing of you.

Is this madness?
That you always dream of her —
whether she yearns for you?
An answer, still unknown.

Going through my old notebook.
Page by page,
Line by line,
I found phrases I wrote for you —
Raw but true.
Some lines, which even today,
Brought me back to my rue.

My book was pointing towards
An unsung outcry,
Asking me questions — unsolved,
Poking me to answer: “The why?
Hey! Give it a try!”

I found some paragraphs — meaningless.
They have just lost their tenderness.
Stories of my loved adversaries,
Poems about my daunting memories.

They say my book is petrifying,
For it has some pages with moments —
Electrifying.
It still has some pages empty,
Yellow and old,
Stating and defining my dreams —
The stories that remained untold.

Everytime you give me a new song.
A tune - unheard
Unwinding my tangled nerves.
Beats conjuring through their magical verse
The music of heavenly earth.
Butterflies singing in chorus.
Styled flowers performing the lead.
Under the canopy of the piano leaves.
Farm animals playing the violin
A Sonata of relief.
Moon is the curator-
And trees are on guitar
Our twinkling star playing mandolin
Birds -singing their tweet from afar.
A moment gloomy or a moment of shine.
You take me back to our best musical time

Who is she?
She is one of a kind.
She dwells on earth, a figure- celestial.
Once you see her, memories keep up the rewind.

Who is she?
A question that I ask when she stands strong-
A warrior that this world has ever known.

Who is she?
She is the one who does creation-Unique.
Art finds its peak
A way so rare, A way - antique
Beauty admires its own revelation.

Who is she?
She is the one who writes in a way
That lyrics find their own rhyme.
Changing and challenging the rhythm divine.

Who is she?
She is a champion of all-
Yet humble and cheerful.
"Don't anger her" that will lead to your fall.

Who is she?
She is the one who questions herself
Asking"who is she?"
While listening to that same old song.

Who is she?
A soul thief, the one who made me feel as a whole.
For I was a scathed scar.
She embraced me like a tattoo from a famous stand.
A guy who was just a  burn on a hand

My friends and I, we rowed a boat.
Over a lake
Brimming with beauty – unnatural.
Floating and paddling over the greenish water.
The smiles and laughter.
The rhetorical jokes we cracked
after and after—

Funnier faces we made
Splashing water on each other like an ace.
What's on earth, was wrong with us?
Like toddlers, we played.
After few moments, we parked the boat.
And sat near a shade.
Four young lads, away from the work.
They took a replenishing break.

Thinking and sharing
About their fantasies and of course about some troubles.
But in each other's company
Fantasies got their grace.
And troubles, they went giggling into rubbles.

The mood and the setting—
When we were deciding what we wanted to eat.
It was similar to how girls buy dresses for a wedding – neat.
It was a different day
Segueing from our daily chores.
What more can I write about this day?
No words to allure this moment
Forever preserved in my core.
Forever preserved in my heart for sure.

I am not a poet.
I cannot dance to the lyrics of the ballad.
I cannot pen a haiku immersive—
I write longings of you,
a passionate cursive.
For I read it somewhere, "For in every universe, there is you for me."
And for me, you are the universe.

I pushed hard to meet you.
Even prayed to the wishing bell,
Just to greet you.
I wrote letters, I wrote poems,
Wrapped in an envelope —
Should I show 'em?

Waiting for you to say, “What’s up?”
Pulled antic actions and strummed some rocking notes.
I still didn’t get your vote.
Peacocking all the time,
For a glimpse, for a smile.
Nevertheless, everything was in vain.
Down from the ceiling,
Laid crashed on the road —
An unwanted disdain.

I thought for long,
And reached this conclusion:
Beauty — yes, I could see it everywhere.
Because for me, beauty is you.
It is not me that brims within me,
But you.
Maybe your heart didn’t find me fit as a pair.
Like always, I was left alone — like a spare,
Without a piece of your heart.
It lies in his only lair.

Talking to my mom.
Over a video call.
Chatting about spices and food.
And my expedition on discovering new food stalls.
At a sudden, in the middle of the call,

We both started dreaming of eating pakoras
In our old home's hall.
We remembered that day — a day of our daily chores —
When we got a visit, sudden, from our relatives loved by all.
We sat in a similar setting,
Like we do on festives —
Some on sofa, some on chairs borrowed from our neighbours who just came from a wedding.
We all greeted each other, embarrassingly happy to receive those gifts.

Anxious but with a speed of light,
Mom went to kitchen and started the festival of a besan's savory delight.
She wrapped all the vegetables she bought for dinner
With the spicy yellow coat.
Fried them in wok where oils danced, praising the deity of fire.
Praising my mom for this ingenious delicacy,
The guests started to pick the pakoras served on their silverware —
Yes, the one — sacred and rare.
All my cousins started devouring pakoras plate on
plate,
Making my mother more anxious — how to cook and serve at this pacing rate.
And her eyes keenly watched the bottle of depleting tomato sauce and a bowl — half-finished, freshly made — pudina chutney.

Suddenly, our Sunday turned back to Monday.
Since,
To her rescue, Dad bought pakoras from our local shop.
Varieties were similar, same as served as early —
Onion, potato, mirchi — served with a differently styled red tamarind chutney.
I am in grave danger adding this line in the end,
For I can be receiving a flying chappal from a distance.
Legends say — always skip saying "they were delicious" in front of Mom if you can (Dad, himself, said it).
A well-fed holiday.
And that's how we celebrated the festival of pakoras
Which our stomach felt reverend.

Sometimes my heart writes.
And yes, sometimes it's my brain.
They both write on a paper—creased and plain.
I have no control
Over the logic I unknowingly challenge,
Or the fleetings that leave me emotionally stained.
Conflicts and peace—
Both try to corner each other
In an effort to weave a lovely piece.

Betting chances—
Will it be might over disdain,
Or will create something so lame,
I'll only die with shame.
My nerves are paining in this wistful fight.
They both pen what they feel is right.
Hands, erasing and rewriting verses all the time.
Will I ever be able to complete this endless rhyme?
Stop scuffling with my thoughts—
Just for one single time.

Holding bags of varied items
I stand in a street—thin.
Flea, but not free,
A place where dreams are sold for a fee.
Watching—negotiations of a lifetime,
Sweat and effort, all in a fading line.
A market where kindness is weighed,
And in return, greed is paid.
Humility and humanity are just low-quality commodities.
I stand in a street—thin.
Love has lost its chances;
It cannot win.
Hatred is the ruler,
Taxing your thick and thin.
It's different from the market of my idealism—
When my finger used to hold a hand,
Without fear and away from this nervous tree.
When letting your heart fly freely
Was an honored deal.
I stand in the market,
As a mannequin—useless,
Bought and sold in ways—pointless.
When will this trade of lives end,
And real shoppers return to sight?
I want to stand in a street—thin,
Flea and free,
Where love and art are traded in a harmonious deal.

Why moon ?
Why you talk to me ?
Is that some fairies' order.
To converse with slave of time.
You play this interlude on the wind chime.
Looting my soul away- the unwarranted crime
Why you make me wander in whims and fancies?
Oh! Now I hear a chorus from that garden of pansies.
Why you make me watch beyond these lenses?

Raising tides! That's the job.
Why you raise my hopes, are you a snob?
These dreams will get shattered by realism's chop.
There comes a cloud vouching your words.
Letting me hear, what's uptil now remained unheard.
Rustling leaves on that tree mock my vision.
My ears blame you.
You penned those lyrics
Unblurring the vision-
Which this canary, now sings along.
My heart knows to play this song
Can't stop my fingers to string along
The whimsical,  legendary
magical moon song.

A deep dive in an ocean alive,
which hugs swimmers sweeping up the waves
— a water tribe.
Fishes, eels, and creatures massive.
Today, ocean is calm and not the usual—aggressive.
Looks like it has found the leisure within.
A real possession, delectable and obsessive.
Today, it reflects the sunglade like a golden rim.
A photograph rare,
capturing pinnacles fair—
translucent and regressive.

Honking house of light,
asking boats to row towards the right.
Did they find something stormy?
Oh! Now, watching this discomfort, my heart felt a bit light.
Strange, isn't it?
Is chaos his new delight?
Not even knowing about the rough,
without gauging his beats on my nerves,
he started pumping the adrenaline rush.

It was a whale—bigger in size.
I said to my heart,
“You are not a character of Moby ****
or Captain Hook.
Nothing would happen, don't try that tiny knife.”
The whale then took a jump high,
diving back from that serene sky—
back to the discomfort, taking a sigh.
Stupid heart, please don't even try.

I asked a golden leaf — a leaf old —
"How did you get this colour?"
Sarcastic leaf said,
"The same way you get your hair grey.
I am also stuck on this Earth like you,
Living a life — bittersweet."

Taking essence of that sarcastic tone,
I murmured to myself,
"Ami, bro!! Better, let's run away.
Let's take a leave."

The moment I put my step away,
Leaf said in a sly manner, "Hey, stay!
If you want to hear my story,
Sit near me on that boulder."
I sat over that stone, shrugging my shoulder.
And he started his story with that ancient line —
"Once upon a time!"
Once upon a time, there was a guy with a book with cover of colour — wine.
With this sentence, I got a frown on my crown.
I interrupted him in between and said, "I found resemblance with that described being."
"It's you," said the leaf.
In a disgusted tone now I said, "Thank you for the brief."
The leaf replied with a grin smile, "I know why you are wasting me-time.
You are waiting, longing for someone from a long time.
I don't know but why?
Oh! That cupid's design.
Adding to this further note."
He blessed that I will meet that someone soon.
I can have his note.
In this conversation, this is the first time we both smiled.
Since then, I visit that leaf and we repeat this nonsense garbage
All the time.

Even when no one on earth
wishes us together—
still, I will stand by you.
Facing the scorching sun,
without the aid of shade—
just a greenish feather.

I adore your might,
your lenses, and your sight.
However—what's on the façade?
Don't bring the cat out of the bag.
There is no need to be shy.
Let the world think they can defy
what we suffice with:
capabilities, resonance, and affection.
Like true pathfinders,
let's take that action.

Perplexed and astonished—
conjuring both of our minds.
Doubts and fears
are there too,
moving us out of the line.
Shed the scare.
Let's brim through the darkness,
out of the lair.

The path forward is something
you’ll never know until you walk on.
With a mightier pen in hand—
and no swords—
we challenge, we fight,
despite the odds.

Brain is not braining
Heart skipping a beat
Remembering the moment.
A time when you used to sit next to my seat.
Remembering the day when you held my hand
And pulled me away,
Took me far from that snobbish gathering.
Away from that chatter.
The monotonous shout.
Together we went to a food stand on a narrow street.
You pulled me hard towards the stall
And made that funny pout.
A flicker, a scene upbeat.
Watching you gulp those savory snacks,
I made a face in annoyance – fake.
Unknowingly I kept my heart on the table.
A table of love-gamble.
Since then, higher are the stakes.
Skipping the world in that moment – temporary,
I found another world,
Yes, the one so exemplary.
A world of you and me - a treasured reverie.
I just feel my heart turns heavy.
Reimagining this in my dreams.
My dearest everlasting memory.

I tried writing about different things,
Of different kinds,
But nothing helps me let her go
Out of my mind.

The enthusiasm and gist fade, losing their core.
Whatever I write without the essence of her,
Even the audience doesn't give a heed
That's for sure.
Oh ! This yielding rage.
It feels like I am in a cage.
What is this disease?
And at what stage?
Yearnings are now beyond ages
Maybe love is just for the stoic
Just for the sage
What to do?
What to say?
I am crying,
I want my soul to slay,
My soul to slay.

Did you ever look up at the sky?
The silver clouds hold the rain.
They will pour it for a reason
And grace the land,
Washing away every stain.

For a reason above reasoning,
The one seasoned with your name.
So let the rain tell your story—
There is no shame.

The whole of your life, we chase that dime,
And in that chase, indeed, we lose the people—prime.
Are you looking up like me,
Maybe from your balcony?

Oh! You found flowers down on the ground—
Yellow petals of some fallen flower.
The rain brings a message of this time
And asks me not to lose you,
Affirmed by the legion of the wine.

When I hear you weep
It takes away my peace, my sleep.
How to maneuver on the turns so steep?
Zoned out—wandering about the pain,
The one that was hurtful and deep.

Rain poured, giving birth to this WordPress,
Your tears hold priceless value.
Can I hold your hand for now?
Time will change its course, I guess.

Aghast I feel, a thing difficult to flex,
The challenge was hard, yet we welcomed the test.
Overcoming the shortcomings,
We did our part—we did our doings.

Later in time, we get a flashback,
Sleeping on your favorite bed.
Like two friends gossiping and giggling on the roadside.
Perhaps, you are right!

It is not the end of the road,
It's all about taking up the flight.
Did we walk up this path only to pass?
Staying apart, though together we did start.

For I just want to walk with you,
Holding your hand,
Away—relieved from this world's errands.
Destiny will find us soon,
Till then, we will gaze at this smiling moon.

What does the bird say?

High, we fly over and above in the sky.
Sometimes alone.
Sometimes in a flock
Roaming the world around the clock
Clouds like dreams, we pass through.
Believe  us - That's the only way to be happy
Away from rue.
Open your wings and just try to fly.
That's the only way to keep your spirits high
Love we spread among all in our every ride.

A flock of seven birds.
Chirping and laughing near a table.
Sometimes you would find them sitting on a cable.
Sounds unavoidable -
Definitely you would have heard.
That little flock of sparrows—such a ravishing breed.
Every summer, they used to fly to this place.
Sky was warm and sweet but not ablazing fire.
Back in the time,
A bird whose presence we have lost in our time.
A sparrow - a symbol of resilience,
A symbol of hope,
A small pookie bird.
Have you seen them fly?
If not, then there is a reason naive.
For we, the admirers, were the ones who destroyed their houses,
And treated them as mere slaves.
On top of that, we increased the heat wave.
Making their survival tough
In the region which was once full of love.
Philosophers lost the art of philosophy
Watching this apocalypse - A catastrophe.
Helpless breeders finding it hard
To make the breed survive.
Meanwhile, I am just wandering.
When will I open my own shut eye?

An awakening message on a board,
A beaming spotlight on a grave note.
Aggressive yet subtle,
A paper scream a yell of pain - unknown.

A woman writer crafts fiction like reality,
Unmasking the lowliness of human mentality.
She writes something valiant and sensible,
Challenging the culture of overdoing—the unreasonable.

To build homes for those who seek finest of the fine,
Is it rational to destroy nature’s design?
Can’t they see what happened to other lands—
Barren and dry!

For the essence of fresh air, can’t they hear people's cry?
Greed instills demise without bloodshed.
If you cut the green,
Apologies from the heart—
You are not painting your city red.
You are not painting your city red!!

From the eyes of the North.
Watched a festival of a new land—his new innings.
A festival telling a story of new beginnings.
A new yug (year), a new adi (beginning),
Together we call it Ugadi.

Eyes linger after seeing a traditional dish,
A full circle of life—it tastes like a blissful wish.
With ingredients similar to what life offers—
Situations and moments, many.

It tells us to keep a smile like jaggery,
Even in situations that bring agony.
Life is tough and bitter like neem,
Yet necessary for growth and moving upstream.

If you feel gloomy—a sour tamarind,
Always remember, even in that,
You will find a blessing of the reverend.

Have a will—a strong one,
That makes your challenges look silly.
Be like the dish—spicy, like green chili.

Salty moments will pass away,
Just believe in yourself.
A single step forward will make them sway—far away.

If you take a bite of raw mango,
Life will give you surprises.

I witnessed a celebration,
Stuck in awe.
Prayers humble, and performances few—
I felt that felicity in this city new.

I witness a celebration -
Stuck in awe.
Prayers humble and performances few
I felt that felicity in this city-new.

I drove a dummy car
A car of dreams
A car where  we should go to have ice cream.
Louder than the speaker, the songs that we scream
A car where I saw your sleepy face.
I clicked a pic of us with an almost ace.
A car we drove to the places beyond our reach.
Imagine a beautiful mountain or a beach.
A steer towards a steep valley.
Did we participated in that rally?
Road bearers commissioned us even in my dream
A car of dreams
Red hot wheel steaming up like a beam.
You throttled my life at faster pace.
And left that seat empty-
How do I chase?
the engine's roar took us to serene shore.
Why does this dream still feel like folklore?
Still feels like folklore

I watched a digital flick.
Where a lens was recording a woman
Caressing a cat—white with a brown patch on her back.
Yeah! It was a nicer click.
Lost in her own thoughts,
She kept massaging the cat,
Smiling and away from this worldly chat.
The recorder kept engaging her,
Not letting her find her zone.
She, too, kept answering,
Moving back and forth,
In and out, immersed in her thought,
Trying to get away from the lens of that phone.
The inspiration, maybe the desperation.
The lady with the cat is my aspiration.
What creations she creates with her beautiful mind, one might wonder.
Nobody can ever take away her thunder.
And yes, again, somebody said it right—
She is indeed a poem alive.

It all started with a wrong name—
I fell for you before you fell for me,
On a dusky evening—
Perhaps Venus cast her spell,
Or maybe it was an acquaintance’s introduction.
A silent heart—a dead one,
Began its eruption.
Hey, this isn't a game—
I'm losing to my senses,
Crossing all sane fences.
I saw your soul;
It made me feel complete.
How to express myself further, I’m unsure.
You see me differently—
You gave me time,
You found my strength,
Disregarding the grapevine.
I don't know whether you'll ever accept this poor lad,
And thinking that you might not makes me sad.
Yet, inadvertently, my heart gives me hope
That we will climb this love rope.

Sitting on a cozy couch in a coffee house.
Yes, the same reckless bachelor,
But this time alone.
Saw an elderly couple sitting beside him,
Sharing an ice cream cone.

A gentle lady with a bindi on her head.
A gentleman with a ring on his wrinkled hand.
Again, the same notion popped into my mind,
Asking the same question.
My heart said, "Let's observe them this time."

They seemed happier and content.
They have seen the struggle together,
Fighting both good and bad intent.
They both acted like angels to each other—
Even death can't send them apart,
Since the physical presence is just for the world—
The material part.

From their weary eyes, it was evident that love is divine.
What does it help your soul to refine?
You were never born alone.
You were born with the hope of finding your heart.
You will never die alone,
For you have their longings and memories till reunion.
And that would be the real start.

We are born alone,
We will die alone.
So why bind us together with another soul?
What's the meaning of this bond?
Isn't it better to be alone?

These were the questions we pondered together,
My friend and I, walking on a lonely road.
We both were of the same gender,
With similar reckless thoughts,
Insensitive to anything tender.

Why do we need this journey?
Why do you need a ring on your finger?
And why must your forehead bear a bindi?
When, in the final moments, you will be set apart.

Unable to answer our own cynical question,
We took a bite from our packet of half-eaten chips
And decided to stop thinking about this notion.

Beans which bring your tongue to linger,
Dishes that compel you to lick your fingers.
A kidney-shaped pulse,
One cooked by your mom,
You won't be able to control your impulse.

Beans grown in a climate—warm.
If you have it with rice, oh! What a charm.
If you have too much, believe me, it will harm.
Kidney beans will touch your heart.
Yes! If you overeat them, it will make you ****

Relaxing on my bed,
Listening to the music,
Suddenly, my cheeks felt some tears shed.
A watery shed out from my eyes,
Feeling the moisture and finding themselves red.

My cheeks asked my eyes, "What's the matter?
Why the mess?"

Then eyes said, "Ears are the culprit, they keep listening to something gloomy on repeat, that's why the shed."

Then ears replied in annoyance,
Stating its innocence, "It's the brain which is the problem."

Brain interrupted the ears' say and said, "It's not me, it's the heart which is on the loose.
For he is deep in grief, for he misses someone close. he is out of control and confused.
It is his longings which are causing you trouble.
Unapologetic heart keeps up the rubble."

Today, I just thought to sleep and not to write.
But couldn't let my pen down on this sleepless night.

I can't sleep,
For I don't need to see dreams with closed eyes.
I can't sleep,
'Cause the moon rays give my thoughts a rise.
I can't sleep,
The love I have for you makes me stupid, not wise.
I can't sleep,
Because in the day, I had nothing special to give.
I can't sleep,
Thinking how can you look more beautiful than the previous night?
I can't sleep,
I am losing my patience—can I see your face once, then we can stay apart?
I can't sleep,
My insecurities I need to curtail, would like to consider a fresh start.
I can't sleep,
For my lips were sealed, but there was conversation heart to heart.

In the pocket of my old jeans,
I found a paper—not ordinary—
A game, mystical and playful, full of memories.

It was a paper marked with red,
Yellow, orange, and green—
Our childhood's magical screen.

Like a magician’s prodigy, you conjured magical air
That would throw away your despair.
An origami art of fortune-telling—
You wouldn't be able to play without yelling.

This multi-folded paper talked differently than usual.
It spoke about your real present and the future.

With color green and numbers 1 and 5,
It spoke of the importance of growth with balance:
"Develop yourself—live up to the challenge."

On color yellow, numbers were marked as 2 and 6,
Which said, "With optimism and cheer at heart,
You will have your yardstick—just start."

As always, you must paint the city red.
Numbers 3 and 7 depict energy and passion.

At last, if you choose orange,
Yes, now you are in the right range.
Creativity is 4, and joy is 8—
Without these two, life is just an empty race.

Swimming with tides
Shows bravery enough to face any strides.
I refrain from putting others' words in my mouth,
So I put ink to my own words, making a happier pout.

Sorry in advance for my gibberish lines,
And also if I break this hymn.
How hard this life goes or has already gone by,
I am living this life by re-imagining your smile.

I write my story on a small piece of paper,
Where I wrote things only about you—that's all.
For when I try to say them to you,
They usually fumble and fall.

The cards in my pocket, which I dedicate to you,
Are of loyalty and respect.
For my love consists only of these two aspects.

I also imagine a walk with you on a serene path,
Just like the elderly couple who walk this road in solace.
Over the lying bougainvillea, you keep your feet.
Softer and softer, we walk with the fleet.

Would it be dawn or night?
Both seem beautiful in my dreams—you decide.
What I desire
Is just a walk with you,
Doesn’t matter to me—a day or night.
Just want to keep walking with you, from day to night.

What does the rain say?

Calm sometimes stormy.
Let me introduce myself to my homies
I am an effect—scientifical
However, my soul is philosophical.
Evaporating heat out of heavy hearts.
Cooling the destination is my aim from the start.
Bugs and bunnies see me as a meeting sign
Making the greens lushy, Yes I do the refine.
Grey clouds hold me till the orders define.
Here I pour away.
Thank you, enjoy my time.

May I Have Your Poems, Please?

Excited and in exuberance, I stand,
Thinking about what you invoke, what makes you observant.
Thinking about what’s on your mind,
I keep thinking, I rewind.

Connecting dots with moments of my own,
I wonder what verses you have sown.
Except for me, the world owns—
Poor me, eager me—
Waiting to listen to your rhymes,
Waiting to know what led you to the divine.

May I have your poems, please?
To quench the thirst of this curious child.

What does the poetess say?

She recites about the world and its affairs,
Like a tragic yet lovely éclair.
She stood up with a voice to curtail the noise.
She spoke of the revelation of the unsaid and what lies wrapped,
To tell the world about its gaps.
To infuse the world with words of sense,
Whimsical treasures, and stories of might.
She stood upon a podium with a book and a pen,
Like a knight, declaring her might.
Like a knight, declaring her heart and its insight.

Two faces sitting together
Two faces fighting each other.
Same two faces holding hands?
Are these two faces friends together?
Or the biggest rivals of the clan?
Cute and smart—a combo mix.
They both have a different kind of rizz.

Sometimes life feels like a movie.
I don't know whether I am a hero or not.
However, when I see you,
I feel something unreal,
I feel something splendid.
I feel something like these gray clouds placed rightfully within the hues of the sky.
I feel your verses even without hearing them.
I feel you, without having you beside me.
How strange, how surreal it is
That I have you, without having you.
It is definitely a Dreamwood watch—
A movie real, not a reel on a social media screen.

What does the grasshopper say?

I am free I am free.
Hopping through the green-ish world
I sit and ponder
settled on this big leaf
About the rain.
About those dried leaves on that windows pane
I am a hopper -happier.
Will take away your worries
Just as these winds ******* away.

Yes, I knew the ones I left.
The choices I made.
Going through this melancholy scheme doesn't make me great.
Perhaps, this is the only way.
I can't put this pain away.
My half-life—I wanted those to get closer.
They just went away.
I don't stand a chance
to even see a glance,
just for the choices I made.
I came along a path forward
or a path backward.
Why does it feel like I am moving to and fro
to get into the rhythm and to get this rhyme?
What I did—unbearable.
It is tough to do the time.

I saw someone in the library.
A face hiding itself in the books and writing something in the diary.
A fiction reading fiction.
Presence—the description is beyond diction.
A storylike fairy reading a book, scary
Holmes awakens in me,
Starting to solve an unasked mystery.
The case was complicated—
To write a synopsis of this story.
Yes! It's a writer's glory.

She looked up and down the shelf,
Thinking, searching, reading, and scratching her head,
Unable to find the novel that connects the thread.
Totally consumed, she was examining a book in red.
Ink stains on her fingernails
Told me she is a joyful writer, so why the disdain?
By a fluke, I got it right—she was searching for a story,
Sensitive and unique in kind.
But not found; efforts in vain—
"So should we write this story in real time?" I requested.

Some meant for stars
Some meant for moon and everything bright.
Some meant for flowers
Or maybe Towers.
Each line that Romeo writes.
Should that always mean to refer - the water
The sky.
My heart meant you in open and not in any disguise.
I ride,
I ride - a long night.
Finding shimmers on the riverside.
Holding my breath, steadying my nerves
Cold breeze is on the serve
Night bird flew away singing your name.
Playing karaoke, yes, the song game.
Lights gazing me from all sides.
Though my eyes searched only for you.
Only for you
That concert night.

I stayed quiet.
Listening to the noise of my own might
I stayed quiet.
Listening to the critics echoing all around my sight.
I stayed quiet.
Sitting near the beach listening to adventures of the waves - they gossip with the light
I stayed quiet
Singing my song on stage to the people of my heart
I stayed quiet
When I was unable to comprehend, where to start.
I stayed quiet
Just because there was no one to converse heart to heart.
I stayed quiet.
Because silence, the golden key, unravels the truth -beyond the sky.
I stayed quiet.
Just to be in peace.
I stayed quiet.

Bouncing ***** jumping up and down
crossing the net.
From player A to B
Covering one to another set.
Trying to understand what's in their heads.
It's another popular - Blue versus Red.

A stretch one took to serve it to another.
Spinning the ball, sending it further.

For the first five minutes, they stand and play,
They keep paddling away.
How determined, one would wonder,
Watching this scene from a distance away.

Hilarious, I thought—the same I do
with thoughts about you.
I paddle them from what should I say or what not to.
Sometimes I fear serving it wrong.

Now for a novice like me, the game is long gone.
And even if I served it right,
My head would be spun, contemplating the spinning of the rest.

Would it be frontspin—
a "no, stay away from me, no love"—faster than served?
Or is it backspin—
"you are a good guy, but not good enough for me"?

If it is yes, yippee, let's settle the score.
Adventure is this game of table tennis.
Would you like to play the menace?
Make noise, take the paddle, explore!.

Blurry eyes with twisted vision
Heart racing fast
Perhaps, not much time to live
Maybe this moment will be our last.
I still dream your twirled red hair.
I know you believe them more.
For astronomical tycoons say
We are nowhere near an ideal pair.
But to defy what was soothsayed,
I will talk to stars to change their phase
To change their chase.
And they will yield,  for I resolve to
Cause they were the ones to witness my longings-
Only for you and for none
My love has taken a new feverish height
My hands tremble and my eyes falter without seeing your soul.
Maybe just a last try - a dying wish.
I close my eyes, whisper your name
I throw my dime in a wishing dish

The world is full of illusions.
But aren't they part of reality?
God created nature like hues in the sky.
A dreamer dreams the story,
Finding the answer—real in an imaginary disguise.
Illusions are real, like me and you.
For nobody would believe—
A story of me,
A story of you."

A cursor blinking on my screen,
Waiting for me to write my scream.
Thinking about what to write,
I had no insight.

So I wrote
About my dull day.
Jack has done all work and no play.
After a long while, I took my time off.
I took my space,
With a cup of hot tea and a rice cake.

Going back to the flashback of those happy days.
Do you remember when we sat on the beach,
Singing our songs to the voices' peak?
Waves of the ocean touching our boiled feet,
Teasing and trolling—
Can we do a repeat?

At night, when the moon chased us,
We sat on a boat, waiting for the sun to wake up.
Photos and images, I start to scroll,
Revisiting the dream on my camera roll.
Capturing the capturer from a different lens,
Then back to the hostel we went.

Oh! Do you remember the lemon soda can?
The pebbles on the sand,
A twig of dried plant in your hand?
Now these kaleidoscopic dreams fade to dawn,
Back to the screaming screen, blinking on.

What does the darkness say?

I am a horizon where voices meet noises
Chaos meets peace.
I only come to you
Determining your valour and ease.

Pain all over my senses.
Time—irrelevant.
I don't even remember the tenses.
Valour pierces me through their sentences.
Of all the odds, slim are my chances.

I survived the prior stage.
Life levels it up.
Now, it is a denser and darker cage,
Seems like a dead end.
Am I blinded by rage?

I published a vacancy for a brimming torch on paper.
Vacancy for a spirit keeper.
Trust—the only requirement,
Not to be tapered.

Apply if you have a heart.
Light within you is the only skill that will keep you on the job.
Payment would be love.
Sure, it will outlast.

Walking down the lane,
with my friend,
late at night, away from home.
Silently, we walk, gazing at the night sun,
consumed by our own thoughts.

We both sat near a pond,
serene ambience all around,
beaming moonglade over the wavy surface.
I took my pad out,
taking my words away from this worldly chase,
watching this absurd scene.

My friend called out and asked me a question,
stating he was not trying to be mean.
"What are poems? What's the need?"

That moment, I knew—
no answer would suffice,
quenching the thirst of his practical mind.
I kept my cool, I kept quiet,
still thinking about that question of time.

A hilarious thought crossed my mind—
"In straight words, I can understand,
but to understand this fish, I need a twisted tale."

A tale of my heart, not of my mind.
A necklace made of beads—the words—
required to enchant the story.

A message of tears,
a message of smiles,
a fable on rewind,
not being understood by many.
Oh, that’s fine.

For with poems only,
one can pause the timeless time.

I thought today, I won't think about you.
Here I am flooded with thoughts about you.
I thought today I won't sit near that door and wait for  you to pass by
Here I am, facing the same direction
I thought today, not to give you that note.
-The poem I wrote about you, how I feel about you.
Here I am, Holding  that note with me - in the book I read
How can I be both?
Exuberant and tired
I am tired by the longing
And exuberant by the love.
Here I am, this is me.
In madness- What sane people call it.
Will you believe if I say my love is real?
It is not surreal.
Not surreal...but real.
The difference- if you ask.
I can't tell.
Because while I am awake it's you on my mind.
Even in my sleep it's you everytime.
Vexed is nature, bored by my longings.
They now have started to tease me.
I thought today, I will find myself and stay strong.
Here I am- lost somewhere.
Gone for long.