In the moments of today and tomorrow,
Moments for me are the ones in which I find your blooming smile,
For in the here and now, my life is your life.

Scenes that I store in images are all my fancies,
For in the here and now, my life is your life.

Sounds mesmerizing my soul are of the bird called canary,
That abodes your throat,
For in the here and now, my life is your life.

Even if your answer would be no,
Yes, a different plan or person I will respect,
Like a gentle guy, you know.

Just grant my single wish:
May I have a shortsighted glance of your smiling face?
That would be bliss.
Believe me in this, there is no mischief.

I learned this lesson after losing someone close.
It's not about living with them through our lifetime,
But just about making a smaller mark in their lifeline.
The heart would be glad if you pass by just once.
Still, jokingly, I will ask:
Would you like to go with me on a brunch?

I will smear the fate
To be with you.
No matter how much others give us that hate,
Even beyond the heavenly gate,
I will ask for you
On any stage.

That smiley face—
I am tired, but I love this chase.
Do you know?
I remember every phase,
Full and half—any.
What I don't feel, I don't like.
A no-moon night, please let me gaze.
I am lost in this word maze.

Let me ask directly—
Don't say that I am in haste.
Would you like to dance with me.
On a rainy day?
Let's get drenched all over again
Face to face.

Passing through a narrow street,
All over known for its treat.
There, I saw an old lady sitting on a tiny seat,
Selling flowers to my lady, the lady of my dreams.

Oh, sweet! Hesitant I was to go closer to her at that very hour.
"How should I start the conversation?" She was already holding the flower.
Murmured and hummed, I opened my mouth,
Summoning with just a formal "hi."

She smiled and replied to my summon gracefully.
Stumbled I was—my brain lost its dictionary,
And started playing a stupid pictionary.
She laughed, called me "cute," and walked away.

I missed my chance—just by sly away.
Since then, I pass by day to day,
Though it distances my daily commune.
Forgetting this Cupid-spread disease is immune.

How strange but laughable,
I live happily in imagination,
But get saddened by reality.
A momentary giggle bursts the trouble,
Bubbly moments are all I now see,
Away from mortality.
Vanished are all my failed trials,
Just when I sit together with my imagination,
Leaving my conscience behind.
I and my wandering mind, overwhelmed with thought—
Oh! What happened to my mental graduation?

How foolish I sound copying a poet's voice.
Do leaves talk, and from when does silence start to noise?
How naive I behave when I see
A pebble,
A dried leaf,
A billboard,
On the go.
And then I start a fable,
Traveling on a rail car,
Away from practicality.
Why is there solace away from clarity?

I left a page blank in my story.
For if the fiction of my heart takes its start,
Beyond any reservation of imagination,
I want nature to fill the spaces with its creative ink.
That would be a wonderful sync.

Far beyond the realm of this worldly order,
Paraphrased by a peaceful recorder.
Maybe not miraculous, but astonishing
It would be.

Buried wishes would blossom like verses,
Metaphors of beauty and similes of happiness.

Yes, I left a page blank in my story,
To write about your name that will rekindle the flame.
I feel no shame,
For I have left a page blank in my story.

Never I saw this before,
Refreshing waves passing through my feet,
The moon gazing at itself with adoration,
Looking at its own glade.

Clouds shimmering dews from above,
It was truly a wonderful phase.
On one side of the seashore,
There stand three strange souls, but family.

Laughter on their faces, fun in their hearts,
My shoulders felt lighten as they unburdened the bore,
Sprinkling over the sand my aghast.
Then I saw the most beautiful—I don't know what it was.

A ******* a jetty,
Sitting silently on that boat.
An angelic smile, the breeze brushing her hair,
I couldn’t stop my eyes but to stare.

I cannot help now; it's impossible to revive.
Is this what they call love at first sight?

What does the time say?

Don't run to catch me
Walk with me! instead
Then only you will see
all that's beauty and all things ugly

A daunting feeling of losing
Of what I have.
But what I have is the question.
A habit of reading,
A guitar to strum,
A lady to love,
A computer through which I learn.

What will I lose when nothing is mine?
Everything came from His grace,
From His shrine.

Even if I did, why this fear?
That too would be in my fate.
Oh, dear,
Why do I hold this pride?
There are still people with talent—supreme.

Go away, this feeling—what a wasteful scene.
I want to settle as a stoic.
Yes! A difficult goal,
But only through perseverance will I score.

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.

I stayed up all night
Trying to pen down something about this night.
Something about the moon, stars, all the things glowing, right.
Tore the page because I didn't find the rhyme right.

Then I thought to write about nature—
Something about trees, rivers, and the blue sky,
About some 'how' and some 'why.'
After jotting down some insensible lines,
My brain—ah!—again started to climb a different vine.

How indecisive it behaved.
What to try to write about, my heart started to crib.
And then I got this cringy thought—
To write about this nothingness.

So understated but believable,
Nonexistent but feel-able.
Ah, again I miss that poetic sense.
The thinking motor of me definitely needs a rewind.

Even when I tried to write about nothing—
No facts to decline—
I asked my fingers to stop
Until I figure out a perfect rhyme.

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!.

A tale, not very astonishing.
It happens with every forced wanderer.
Just a story — amorphous and absorbing.

To make my living a decent one.
To build a career better —
Yes! The recent one.

I moved from city of hearts to the city known for its royalty,
The city which treated an insolent me like a nawab —
A Loyalty.
From metros — crowded with stories bold and unruly,
I came to the city having boulders depicting nature's beauty.

A blend of love and fury.

A guy who came from administrative forts,
Shocked but humbled by palaces and temples
Infusing in my veins a spiritual-divine force.

This is what happened when a guy from Delhi met Hyderabad.

From stomping streets, busy enough, still meet and greet strangers,
To streets where Bougainvilleas on the roadside make you fall in love with yourself —
Loneliness is now a fallen ranger.

I took my cravings, the longings of chole bhature,
Found one-sided love in Biryani of Paradise.

My heart got smeared
After hearing the mix from Punjabi to Hyderabadi.
My Hindi has now found its real love —
As we called "a real Ishq."

Love is in the air,
Telugu and Urdu whispering poetry
Embracing nature's soul.
Teaching love its new meaning and life — its role.

Believe me,
I have seen two cities fall in love,
Different in every aspect.
One is about passion and aggression,
Another subtle and pure,
Full of warmth and compassion.

Their love made me feel my own self-worth.
From now on, I am a Hyderabadi from heart
And a Delhiite by birth.

I saw angel-like places on this very earth.

How foolish can one be
Like I was
To believe for what I got  through was unique.
How did I forget that we all consume and feel the waves of the same sea.

Same pirates, likewise hurricanes.
Just the tide timed different

Lighthouse seeks adventures
Sailor seeks safety.
Both are fruits of brevity

Deeper you dive
The less you know.
Icy it feels when it taunts.
Every night it would haunt
Every sail seems unique but is monotonous
It was you against you.
I falsely believed it was you against us.

Ink on a paper I saw,
Running down through her hand.
I envisioned beautiful stories published on a stand.
Stories, fables, prose, and poems—
All were freed by the river of ink on the land of paper.

Politics, business, travel, and life—
Lovely words enhance the spice.
Writing is just like creating a culinary recipe;
If done right, you’ll feel like Gatsby.

Nevertheless, I am just a novice learner,
Making notes, burning my soul on the burner of thought.
Can I ever have that kind of poetic knot?

Tuning the forks.
Taping up the notes.
Strumming the rhythm,
Playing the tune of an unknown melody—
All night long,
A simple song.

Raising the pitch in harmony— a humming voice.
Using chords to stay away from my own mental noise.
Ravishing words, heart-wrenching lyrics,
Soothing rhyme.
Not just about the worldly vine, but it is something divine.

A looping symphony that
Binds strangers’ heart,
Maybe by verses in the middle or the prelude—the start.

It unifies both the weary and the strong,
Something like patriotism—
Everyone feels the same for a song.

Love, quotes, and fables,
Passing through all ears.
Language, art, or magic—
Call it what you will.

Whenever I play my six strings,
I sway, lost in time,
I sway, forever.

To the midlife crisis,
Ode to the dark side.
Sometimes it's tough to understand
Where it is leading,
There is a tunnel I see,
Pitch black is that underway.
Ashes of death are below my feat.
Burning human pride and greed
I see angel's real faces.
Horrified indeed
The earth was the only hell
Heaven is now unachievable
You can try any human creed
Furnaces of sins burns the soul.
Solace is a myth,
captivated goodness now find themselves astray and not whole.

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.

I heard a whisper, "Why return?—Heart still guarded."
Our fingers interlocked,
Sitting on a couch,
Headphones on,
Listening to the sweetest song.

Ancient and antique—both spirits together,
Writing verses of beyond,
Getting thoughts cozier in this windy storm.

A book on the side table,
With my scribbled wishes,
Engraving my thoughts on those empty pages.
Imagining the above scene, I wrote:
"When will this image become my experience?"

Up from the dream, it's just me and the storm.
Turning off the lamp,
I let this yet-to-happen memory—a cloudy form.

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

A Path of Conscience
A path to the prime of the primes.
A journey of a disciplined disciple.
Could I ever become a part of you?
For I am out of my line.
The tiniest or the most magnanimous being
Bestow their heads when they see you,
Sitting on your swing,
Waiting to shower your blessings—
To spread the word of the kind.
Love is you; so is war.

Will I be wandering,
Without your message,
If my purpose is resolved—
The one I was a strong believer in?
Or does something yet remain on my part,
To be called, in your terms, a real keeper?

I know not the meaning of the "why,"
An enquiry of aspirant saints,
A quest to be enlightened.
Let me take a breath, a sigh.
All this is above my capable power.
I am fine to be lived by your plan, your desire.

Just one wish that I whispered in your ear:
All I want is to be with you.
May my soul always be with you,
Without any worldly fear.

Brain is on, but the soul is off,
Can't recall when this life took off.
Working days in a *****'s shop,
Like a wandering hare’s hop.

Living status—absurd to convey,
Indecisive and impatient still.
How should one determine his will?

Game of Thrones? That’s not what it is.
It’s merely a game for ounces.
Popping a rubber tray toy,
To crumble the gray, let stress destroy.

What more is left to say?
Tomorrow, we’ll circle back the same,
Problems—just a recurring invite.
Everything is urgent pretending it all right.
Skilled but not more intellectual.
Attending the meeting  with a happy pout
Hey ! Fresher,
Don't be afraid of this, strive.
There much more to do.
It's just a part not role of life.

Ashes underlined in my heart,
For a bittersweet reason—
A bitter grief and a sweeter lesson.
Burning wood, catalyzed by purified butter,
A falcon set free from its worn-out armour.
Yes! Its rhymes are clever,
Stating these lines, the saint's spirit departs.

"More than the presence, one's essence matters," he indicates.
"My dear disciple, spread this in the syndicate.
Spread this in the syndicate."

Syndicate of people,
Syndicate of purpose,
Syndicate of love.

All is one, and that is the cult.
The crime would be—to hold on.
Let the bird of time fly
Taking his last breath
He finished this rhyme.

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."

It feels like I loop same verse on a repeat-
Is it graceful?
Why do I feel this heat.
It's like an unknown revolt
Why am I resistant?
Just to write about you.
This pen-
I just can't hold.

Whenever I try to craft something new.
My Imagery becomes dull.
And I remember words a few.

And whenever I try to write you.
There, 'you will see
A poet is born -proclaimed'.
A poet of hope
A poet of rue.
Oh! There again!
My mind is askew
Lost its *****.

So? Is it the question, or the answer to a puzzled rant?
So? Is it the beginning, or just an end?
So? Is it a grim gaze, or a friendly withstand?
So? Is it a careless whisper, or a well-thought word?
So? Is it impromptu, or something well-rehearsed?
So? Is it for the show, or just redacting the old?
So? Just an expression—should I laugh it out,
Or make a sad face with a lingering pout?

Shallow are my senses.
Just above the line
Deeper the thoughts flow
Finding answers in the bottom of the riverbed
For the questions never afloat.
They sank yet there still, like a vine
Rooted beneath or up the mill
Breezes on the shore
Keeps bringing the quest allure
I can't solve them alone.
For I need a fairy's touch.
Of your magical hand
I know you are here in this midland
Stealing my heart with a whimsical chant.
Amidst the cluttered clouds
Believe me you are my silver lining
Yes, I have love for you.
I speak out loud.

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?

Hammered by the drink of love-
Consciousness has left me for good.
The mightier sword instead of describing woods from his blade
It elaborate your beauty and prescribe me with your accolades.
Flowers, birds and fishes lost their worth
For they are but shadows of you on earth.
Without you, so bored they are.
They don't provide me their stories anymore.
Compel me instead to use them to describe you as metaphor.
So hammered, so drunk I am
"Nothing but you remains my endeavour."

Some roads are not chosen by us;
they are chosen by fate.
And the one leading to you
is destined for both — my heart and my fate.
After all, you, me, and my fate
are all one.

If you would allow me
I want to make this a reality.
Even though it is beyond practicality.

Perhaps, not new but some symbol of togetherness,
If it could be done in earnest.

To write our names in oneness over that fading sand-
On the beach, we once took our stand.
After all, you, me and our fate— are all one

Our path is ours - bold and divine,
So be it, I say.
Wish the Lord would make all the obstacles sway.

A path unique and apart,
Everyone has a different start.
It's a sprint, not a race;
Eventually, we will find our peace, our pace.

With courage and resilience, our will strengthens.
To find purpose, you keep hustling along.
Bring things to ears that matter,
Treat the rest as a playful song.

Hope you find the thing that you revel in.

If you ever get let down,
Don’t think of backing down.
Solve, for everything is treasured in your crown.
No matter what destiny announces.

Make your mark, engrave every stone.
Be your best – keep moving on till victory graces your throne.

One fine day, up above the skies,
The clouds gathered for a meet,
To speak of a creature beautiful,
A creature unique,
A creature antique.

They read verses from a spirited book,
Of moments that were off the hook.
But then they paused and looked below—
"There he is, our favorite," they said.

The one who embraces sadness,
Like dry sand embraces rain.
The one who welcomes struggles,
Like land endures a storm.

Then why does he not embrace happiness?
"Too little," he says, "unreasonable it is."
Is he insane?

No! He is simply waiting—
For the one who will share his phase.

Affirmed, the clouds began to pour,
Warm teardrops from the sky,
For the one who bore an unknown fame.

Why good things cant' keep going??
Why they have to stop?
Why the one you like the most goes away?
Why it never happens the way you want?

All these questions, I asked the silence to answer but the indifferent silence never broke a sound.

A moon in grief summons my soul to calm down.

Deep within, not so assured of,  my heart says after a pause.
Good things ends maybe there is more to learn.
To start something new, former must have end.
And hardest of all is to accept, sunshine of your day is not only yours to keep.
Rivers flows the directions, where mountains direct them to sweep.

Are these answers true only time will tell.
Still then I will wake in my sleep.

A Gamble of Thoughts
I play with my night,
Over a bankroll of solace.
Betting my daily chaos on the table,
Trying to play with my full aces.

Although that high-roller cloud was over my chases,
Turn by turn, my confused thoughts were bluffed by whimsical reality.
Tear drops fell, not because I was losing my heart,
But for knowing it was a lost game from the start.

So I changed the game, chose wisdom for another round,
Put all my best cards,
Shining with pride,
Believing this time I would flip the game.

To my surprise, Nature had better clarity.
It played with a balanced approach,
And I lost everything on that deck.
Heart and mind both said, "Let’s not gamble again.".

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.

On my quest for meaning,
About the how and why,
What is love?—a common thing in an uncommon world.

Sitting at my desk at night,
With my pen by my side,
I was having this lovely fight.

The laughing moon, at this sight,
Teased me on my condition by beaming its moonlight.

Vexed I was,
So I asked in sarcasm,
"You are an observer, do you know anything about love-gasm?"

He giggled and said, "Love is pure beyond logic.
Though it happens in the brain's part,
Its purity—its heart's trademark.

Its uses are like a language—
It can create wars and even bring you a sandwich."

Whilst this exchange,
A cloud hovered over the moon.
I heard—my alarm rang.

I am late to work.
It's noon.

Why? 2 o’clock at every night,
With my own thoughts, I have a fight.
They agree, only to defer.
Always behind me, ready to refer.
Solutions I find , look like a problem to them.
Oh! Arguing with my own reasoning is pure mayhem.
The light of the lamp watches us,
Flashing a disgusted beam.
The pillow also says, "Shut your eye,"
Which sounded more like a scream.
"In your dream, you will again fight."
Sleep awaits, sitting on the bedside,
Reminding me to slumber—
Headache, an indicating flag.
But weary words never back down;
All the world's gibber-jabber eats at my crown.

Flying over states on a blue flight
Hospitality and humbleness ----
Perfect blend to make a blissful ride
A culture mix slumber together
And so they break a bread that happens once in a
Lifetime.

A stranger to talk your heart out was rare to find
Conversion over a tea, was all a mesmerizing
bit..
About kings and their tales of fancies were all like airy glitz
And for a time being, A cloud got shy from our watchful eyes..
Two hours, between all of this journey ended in a meantime.
I don't know how to write my journey's end
For now I am content to have a stranger friend.

Why not! I will write one for you.
For me, writing about you is fun.
Is it the same for you?

I compare and contrast
To understand the dynamics of your heart—
Like the moon and stars.

Like how and why?
How can one possess the celestial power of the divine?
You are unique—nobody has your design.

Journals, poetry, songs, and prose—
All tell stories about you, yes, of course.
Even my pen, from which I write, knows the course.
It picks words that describe you best,
Beyond my imagination, beyond my thoughts.

Don't worry about my longings; that's my remorse.
I just love this adrenaline rush
When I write about you.
This metal of love never rusts—
It only speaks of you.

Every day, every month,
A year feels too short to describe
How wonderful it is to be with you.

A never-ending verse it is,
Not a stop, just a pause.
I will write again about you,
For it is never done.

Ah! Love—what a force!

Never would I know
About the sweet water of this well
By my own, you were the one who said it would.
Never would I believed
About doing something
You were the one who said I could
From the known to the unknown
From the low to the zenith
My eyes did see them all, they thought they never would.
You were the one who said they  would..
You were the one who whispered "see the world the way it meant to be".

Echoes of the Dark War
Trembled, blood-stained sounds all around,
Screeching swords, blasting grenades.
Killer of dreams, yet savior of the sovereign,
A necessary evil that melts your heart in disdain.

But let your pain be your pride,
For the one among the fight.
The girth and bravery warriors showcase
Is beyond any poet's pen's reach.

Have faith in them and stay strong.
It will ignite the fire of valor,
Till the battle stays.

Soul of the Lord—begone.
Flashing bullets haunts the celestial sea.
Fire and electricity are in every soldier's vain.
Freedom is the price.
Respect because that's the wage life has paid.

Little fish swimming in a housed pond,
See her swirl joyously all day long.
Got me wondering what her childhood would be like—
Did her grandmother tell her stories about kings and their knights,
Or horrors of birds preying on them from the sky?

Maybe about mermaids or the treasures from wrecked ships?
I watch her still—she is flapping her fins,
Maybe expressing her experiences of the deep, darker sea.

I still wonder—what a life it would be,
Fascinating or dreadful, what would it be?

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.

Who truly knows the signs of love?
A few rose, beyond the rest.
A road, difficult, designed to test.
Test of patience,
Test of trust,
Test of longing,
Test of real love,
Test of lust.

Some say it has divinity,
A whisper from the divine.

What is love? What are its signs?
Lovers are always on the go,
No time to meet and define.
Who knows love?
Poets define it as incomplete.
No one has written a verse
About love which was deemed complete—
To the death of time or to the death of this rhyme.

Infatuation, infectious infatuation.
Can anyone tell the difference between love and tormentous sensation.
both feels the same.
Why do I even play this game.
My heart cries for the one.
Should I even try?.
Big question mark on the existence of both the feelings.
They are good for nothing in terms of healings
They both don't care about the real feelings.

Brimming lights await.
On the other side of the tunnel, densely dark.
Only by crossing the pitch-black with a racing heart,
Only then can you reach the goal.
A simple rule, hard to follow.
A complete soul, in the beginning, is hollow.

It always feels like a sham in the start.
To leave and go away; being persistent is the only way to pass.
Keep moving with me; the darkness won’t last.
To people like us, that's the only fashion.
Let us be real but not away from imagination.

On this twisted, tangled road.
Trust me, just once.
I am a companion, a comrade—don’t decline.
Validation of our love—a treasure rare to find.

The test is ours to pass through.
We will do it together,
In front of this dark, dense tunnel.
Here we stand.
Let’s step forward, hand in hand.

When I am with you, even hell feels like heaven,
For I have seen God walking beside you.

But how long can fragrances last?
When the scent of you emits all around.
A 'Sampangi' sensation that outlasts.

When the moon touches your cheeks with moonlight,
It whispers about you.
It groovingly descends the light,
Echoing you thrice, like in the love fable - 'White Night.'

Then, like always, it happens in a way
That even poems can't define it by any means.
Anyway—

My face talks more than my tongue.
The pumping muscle has started throbbing outside my lungs.
I am now away from sanity—
Now, delved into the world of chattiest utterance.

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

Withered flowers are what remain with me.
All profound fragrances are gone.
Only flashbacks remain with me—
Lovely, but dreadful,
Because they were the ones that kept me sane.

Normalcy—I try to act it,
But it feels like something insane is acting within me.
Flames that burned out the petals of the purple ones,
Ingrained images—the screams, the cries.

The body that once held me in its arms
Has just become dust,
And I couldn’t do anything about it.
I couldn’t do anything...

I didn't get a glimpse .
I thought fate would be on my side
And will show me for what I strive.
The tic-tock clock raised my desperation.
God,  grant me a glimpse of my aspiration.
After a time,  I lost my mind and walked down the staircase of a rare design.
Thought I would sneak in like a suave thief.
As soon as my Footsteps hit the floor
Found no one just some strange faces across the hall.
May be the unfortunate is the only thing I own.
Why always I am destined watching empty walls.
Not the pretty face so I can reckon.