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.

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

Undeniable, unfathomable, I felt a moment indescribable.
Leading towards an unexpected goal,
Yet desirable.

In shock, I am, yet cherishing it at the same time.
Questions found answers, long-awaited.
A smile— a diehard wish I perceived in real time.
I've been zoning in and out ever since,
Like someone pulling up and down the lever.
Brain stopped, not 'braining'—what a cringe?

Chitter-chatter—who knows? What's the matter?
In gladness, I repeal my senses.
High on elation, no offenses.

A moment so momentary,
With an impact, not temporary.
I felt a scene—contemporary

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

Imaginary inspiration to the real desperation,
Giggling, laughing, making a puppy face.
An aspirational verse brings up a tickling sensation.

Your words, your verbs.
I count the letters of your lovely nudge.
The way you envision life
Sharpens my pen’s nib,
A slayer among the knives.

A paper is merely a victim,
Enduring the wrath of your beauty.
But still, to write about you,
I rather prefer it as a duty.

A duty that makes me wonder about
The how and why,
Taking a sigh.

I sit on my balcony
With a sun-kissed face,
Writing about my real inspiration
With an imaginary desperation.
A saddened smile,
As I may.

I sat near the door
watching people bursting in and out
Impatient but hopeful,maybe I would see
The one who make my heart feels allures

Fingers drummed on the table's top
Hour arm made a turn on the wall clock
Eager and impulsive, I turned into elephants child
Moving and shaking my seat

Wait game is a real upbeat.
May I have the grace to see your face.

After bidding for a long
Then I struck the ace
Aurora spread all over on their arrival.
Giving me ease, a reprieve for survival.

I dreamt of you all my fancy nights
on my face - you keep shutting the door.
Immediately I rushed to the window peeping out
You lushy face, what a sight.
Finding you busy, I talked to your 2 am cloud.
It is not the time, he said,
Making an imaginary pout.
Revert back maybe tomorrow on the same line.
In aghast, I said, "fine."
You worried about rain on forest fire.
What about the storm, I am going through.
Thunderstruck by your desire.
I know your answer could be any back and forth.
But still, I will play this game.
Just listen to me once.
Let my heart say it’s due.
Then it's my neck,
Your claws,your roar.

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.

After walking down a long lane
I sat on a bench with an umbrella in one hand.
Sitting still,
I don't remember, why my thoughts were numb.
With a straight face, gazing towards that wet grass.
Through my wet  translucent glasses

It was a tired pouring day.
An unusual day - with no reason for a smile to stay.

The winds blew rough-
And froze my hand.
They were hitting my face like a rubber band.

My focus was lost and gone-
All logic and reasoning were worn and torn.

Folklores of the insects felt quieter than silence.
Things that were troubling me
I can't reimagine that violence.

I missed to hear that-
Birds were chirping my song of unfound love.
I just kept rubbing my hands under the glove.

But why still, what was the doubt?
They left me alone so what?
I always walked like that-
The lone one in the crowd.

Maybe this could be the only reason
For what just had happened
I was just a victim of a disease called overthinking
I don't know why I stayed on that bench.
Without blinking.

Tears had flowed over my cheeks, I don't remember
Or they got mixed with the rain drops
I don't remember.
What I remember, it was something about
That I lost someone or I was on a verge to lose someone - who was out and about

I can only remember that I woke up by
A strange talking goose muddling riddles like a muse

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.

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.

Wherever I go, they make me feel
What I am—just a tag along.
Tried to move into her heart,
But I can't be there.

I am not family, maybe just a sidelined friend,
And would be remembered only in the end,
Because I am just a tag along.

Is there a need for a wall?
Am I so scary? You taking your eyes off me makes my heart weary.

Gloomy I feel, just to be a tag along.
I came to your life to share everything,
Not just to be a tag along.
But I can stay—just listen to my growl.

Bear angel's faith—
I will not be like them, who left you shattered.
They are long gone.

I will stay with you till my soul rumbles.
Whenever I think of you and me,
Stumbled feet become straight.
If I can be yours, that would be great.

You are my cause, and you are my purpose.
Don't treat me like a joker of a circus.


Don't treat me like a joker of a circus .

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Why are they different?—the day and the night.
The day—flamboyant in nature, a giver.
A fearless creature with ecstasy in heart.
A button pressed—it will jumpstart.

The night—calming senses, healing wounds.
Cloudy touch—longings and love together, it will clutch.
They say it best, 'Silence is the sweetest sound.'

Being part of the same cycle.
Do hurricanes usually hide within serene hearts?

Together, they stay—Yin and Yang, the stoic way.
The street in which I stay witnesses this display.

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.

Thy longings have now become inscrutable.
Loving you was not my choice but my fate—
That is undeniable.

Do you think I’ve ever had a day without a thought?
You are the first and last thing on my mind,
Ever-revivable.

Apologies if you think it as a drought,
I say, never mind.
I will fight my flaws,
From dot to dot.

I came to you
To ignite the lamp of love,
A lamp of light.
Instead,
I burst the fireball of hatred
Inside your heart.

I learned that spiteful insight.
I hate me; for you hate me.
Though my love stands young and true,
Even hearing your voice has become a wishing game.
I just need you, no fame—
I have no shame.

You believe in the love prescribed in a book,
But disbelieve the one that is real.
Why are you taking me off the hook?
Am I a crook?

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?

What I have expressed
are the words spiralling on this paper
Depicting thoughts of my heart.
I plead guilty for the pain which I caused
While you stayed off-guard.

What I have whispered.
Are rhymes of my clean intentions
A statement that I have respect for you.
Perhaps you perceive me wrong
for the place I belong-
You judge me as a fanatic norm.

Yet to claim otherwise
I proved myself enough-
If you still don't feel that I am a good guy.
And if you feel that I didn't stand true to your high five.

I feel sorry for myself
I shoot an unaimed shot- a futile try.
And yes, it's true.
I longed for your soul.
I have no materialistic goal.

I wrote a few hymns
Maybe a heavenly crime.
Whatever you say
Whatsoever you convey.
I will just say, "it's okay, it's fine."

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.

Raindrops in black and white.
A release of radiant bliss,
Captured through silent lenses
Stooped on a stand,
Far in hide.

Watching this scene on my digital screen,
And writing about this notion- unknown.
Sitting still, holding a bedside.
Scratching my head, I peeked out of the window.
The captured visuals felt too real - my comfort outgrown.
Then, I saw you.
Or did I Imagine?

A scene in a cinematograph.
An image of you appeared as a holograph.

Up among the dark clouds
I heard your name thrice.

Scent of the wet soil-
They blew my mind.
Beneath my feet
I felt it warm- A subtle heat
Then, all of a sudden
Strong winds twirled taking their lead
Awakening me, opening my eyes

I smiled, for I know about that notion unknown-
I re-manifested you sitting by my side.

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.

Queen of Spades...
Queen of Hearts...
What should I say?
From where should I start?

Am I tired of writing stories of the heart?
For the heart brings a box filled with chaos—
A weight of dismay,
Ah! Some traces of illogical hope,
And some things... should I say?

Perplexed, he stands—
What should he carry, and what should he let go?
Don't bluff your cards—hey! Just show.

He wants to propose something to me, I suppose.
Maybe a proposal of care,
A proposal to share,
A proposal to collaborate,
A proposal—one that's fair.

Maybe he forgets—
Whenever one proposes,
The other may dispose.

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.

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?

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 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.

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.

I had a single-sided love account
In a world - famous bank.
where I deposited my loneliness and dreams-

Upgrade! upgrade! Upgrade! to joint account
Depositing love, just one, with someone profound.

The notification messages,  even on call and emails
They used to scream invoking my hope.

One day, just by the fluke, I made an enquiry
Diarizing the requirement in my worn old diary

After watching that long list -
Handed to me by a shrewd representative
My heart shouted, "What's this initative?
,a phony scheme!".

Except for questioning my love and identity

They want proofs of everything I own in brevity.
The culture
The compatible age.
Proofs of income and assets - immaterial
The also asked whether I am on same page
About my plan at the time of retirement age.

List has 70 pages front and back scrambled upon me.
My mind bounced like a ball - up and down.
I abruptly closed my enquiry.
And screamed, "I am ok with my loneliness, What the heck!".
And said "On this downgrade -upgrade, I will circle you back."

Walking down the lane,
I found leaves all over the pavement
Near a tree.
I asked, "How do you feel coming off the tree?
The one you fed once—did it just set you free?
Is this your autumn?"

"Why can't spring last a lifetime?
Answer me, leaves, why do you decline this request?"

The calm leaves—dried and withered,
Lying on the icy floor—
Answered my query softly:
"The reason lies in the design,
Nature has defined our lifeline.
Cherish the time while you have purpose,
For like me, everything will dissolve into the soil.
Even now, I am still the feeding host,
Nothing to foil."

A thought - vernacular
I found adulthood and childhood similar.
Childhood was about showing off toys and games.
Adulthood is about showing wealth and fame.

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.

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.

Maybe actions of mine
Are the things that bother her mind.
I can't help—
Those deeds are born of a cause:
Keeping cassette of her tunes on a rewind.

Pictures of landscapes I keep posting on my social wall,
Thinking—could there be a time
When I can visit them with her, maybe next fall?

To trouble her thoughts is the fear in me,
And I must refrain from telling her the truth,
Feared by the fact of losing her,
Whatsoever of her I have.

Adorable or mischief,
It's all in my memorial pack.

Only half of me stands here,
Incomplete.
The other half of me—
It’s hers now,
To cherish every fleeting moment,
Every stolen glance.
Hope this time I did it neat.

You always asked me to stay strong.
Not be afraid, if the things go wrong
I loved to irritate you with that silly song
Smile of your face kept my soul charged all day long.
I loved to be your kid and love it  still
It was hard to breathe for you I remember niche of the ticking clock.
Tick tock tick tock!!
How can I forget lord's gambling mill.
When mature kid's maturity suddenly bubbles
I hate being the bigger one.
Best I was small.
Holding your hands, just...that's all
I stand now where you are nowhere near me
Holding hands is just mere a scenery
Just a scenery.

Walking down a lonely street,
I saw a light-like human—
Felt like a treasured dream,
A shape like a heart.

Chasing me down the lane,
I turned around and asked, shiveringly,
"Who are you?"
Then that creature began to whistle a tune—
In an unusual rhythm,
An unusual rhyme.

He sang—
"I am divine, refined, and the beauty of this time.
You rhyme me with agony and aghast.
You say I’m a reverie, like magic,
A poet’s favorite word from which they start.
I am in flora, I am in fauna.
The Lord’s favorite servant.
I served angels and demons—
Even dinosaurs, to some extent."

Mesmerized by his answer,
I inquired, "But… what is your name?"
He said,
"I am Love.
And now, you are my contender.*
Let’s play this cupid game

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.

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.

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.

Intriguing persona I saw at a strange time.
Luminous life became my prime.
Optimistic rays of hope and love touch those
vibrant outlook I perceive.

Elegance all over, like a luxurious chandelier’s glaze, I glare.
Unforgettable and timeless.

Tender moments ignited,
Unique, passionate fire in me; ablaze with amor.
Serenity and salvation I found on earth.
Harmony and melody found their mirth.

A symphony of music,
Reverbing affection.
An alluring aura my heart asks for more