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.

A low rated verse
A bad rhyme.
Maybe I am composing it at a bad time.
When blowing wind touches my face-
I can feel swirls in my heart
Like a hurricane going to start.
Walking down this metro bridge.
Boarding a train from this crowded ridge.
Seeing many faces all around.
Why I still long to see you-
Why I always sit and take turns in this merry-go round.

They always take my test
Yet I tell you, I am doing my best
Why do you believe the world- that conspires ?
See it in my eyes
See the fire.

I would be standing on your side- whatever the mayhem
You are my prime.
As the world says "A timeless Crime".
What am I?
A Joker perhaps, A scribbler of this broken hymn

Wrong,  Wrong I am.
But it still feels right.
Only by this feeling- that you stand by my side.
You stand by my side.

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.

Cafeteria, a place where you buy food,
But get smiles for free.
Unbound zone—full of rejoice,
Yet with a stock of items but memories beyond choice.

A secure place where everyone unlocks their hearts out,
A real incubator of ideas, even bigger than any alma mater can ever be.
A place where you read personalities, but beware—don’t shout out loud.
Where you go without a schedule,
Shorter hours you get to stay, the more you ridicule.

We know about what is next door,
But the real masala is the gossipers on the table—
What a glore!
Whoever it may be, a lecturer or a boss who gave you a bang,
You will find solace ranting about them with your gang.

But sometimes it kills you when you are alone,
Just imagining an oasis of people,
Struggling to come out of the zone.

I saw you painting—a canvas of chripping birds,
A face like yours—immersive, yet shy—
Holding warmth, an unspoken invitation,
Guiding through that arch.

And then, pointing at you...
And to share heartspace with another—
You see golden pillars—joining hands together.
Ah! It is not a souvenir,
An artificial gateway.
Let's pass through.

May you find something interesting altogether.
What could it be? you wonder.
Or how would it be? Is this the question that steals your thunder?

Just do it, let it out.
This deed would be there in your heaven's ledger account.
If you fail, if you stumble—that won't matter.
The gladness that you tried is all that matters.

Come, let's join hands together,
To go across and feel the weather.

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

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.

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 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.

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.

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

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

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.

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!

I found someone to open my joint  account.
Yes! The one in the world famous bank.
To deposit my love and my dreams
To share and withdraw them till eternity
No matter the rank.

I submitted all proofs with my applications
Reviewed and duly signed by co-applicant.
Asked the world to be our grantor.

Promising we will bond together-
With all my interest invested in this life
The one destined to be eminent.

We scrambled back the application of seventy pages.
Now, we will stay together for ages
We signed to build our assets with love
In any weather.

Upgraded to my love joint account-
I found love: profound.

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.

A lover boy,  Am I.
Yes would be the answer, maybe
A Chimp , a ****, Am I
For I am so full of love, may be
Only the thing I remember is not the fragrances of flowers,
Not the breeze of the sky but the way you adore them..
Gleamy eyes of yours have my heart, that is sure.
In my dreams..I find you always, that is sure
Are you a reality ??  may be.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 ****

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 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."

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.

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."

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

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.

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 .

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."

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

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.

After a long working sphere,
I went on a walk with my colleague—
Just to breathe some atmosphere.

After walking a few stones—climbing a hill-like road,
We came across a fair, full of stalls:
Stalls selling books of fiction,
Memories-loaded diaries,
And something cute and funny—
Rumoured to be an addiction.

Oh! There was also a stall of sweet gummies,
Clothes and accessories for the ones
Who are necessary—

At one gleaming stall,
Which displayed unnatural jewels
And some items with timeless halt,
I found bangles—an unusual purchase—
For I am a bachelor, after all.

It was like an abrupt, mysterious case.
I don't know why I did that chase.

We looked foolishly over a shop selling light-up bunnies.
Restless, aimless—
We searched and explored every stall.
We went back to have more gummies.

Trying to find something—
Which could be our overpriced treasure,
So we could be appeased by others
In our next breaktime chit-chat.
We took every measure.

Our efforts went in vain
And without any gain.
With a gift without a receiver,
We went to our work—dull and plain.
Yet bangles still clinked in my brain.

I have seen it in colours.
I have seen it in Black and white.
It feels like it would keep glowing
But will dim within the hue of skylight.
What sustain on earth?
Everything is to perish
Moonlight like flashbacks I perceive
Unforgettable images my eyes recieve.
My eyes begs to stay and fade no more.
And beyond this, I cannot describe my fascination-
That is for sure.

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!.

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.

With recent times I have learnt,
Happiness is momentary.
But does that make it temporary?
Is it just an exaggerated feeling,
That pulls you down and pushes you up
Over and over,
Jumping on and off the railing?

Or is it something divine?
What is happiness?
Can anyone define?
Only the smile on a face can make it revive—
Or could it be something else?
Why is it so hard to understand,
Storming my head to make a stand?
I just want to store happiness,
Like coke in a can.

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.

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.

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.

Deeper in the sea,
I saw you swim,
Floating free,
With your soul and heart.

Towards the darker realms,
You need no light, no warmth.
It's your wave on which you swim.

Then why this current I feel so strong?
Why do I want to swing, sway along?

You say it as home.
Valiant you are;
Then why live in fear?
What seems distant is truly near.

Depth has its own treasure—
Cult, dark, devilish sea.
I know the cause:
No glee. No plea.

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.

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.

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.

Do you feel it too?
Or am I scribbling a madman’s manuscript?
The warmth, the haze—
This feeling of a desperate chase.

Does nature only mock me?
Does it grace you?
The wind caresses the skin of all beings—
Do they call you a pawn
In a mesmerizing scheme?

Or am I just being dreamy?
It is necessary for my heal.
Is it the same, the likewise intuition?
Do you feel, what I feel about this creation
Or is it - crazy guy's manifestation.
Do you feel it too?
What I feel?
Listening to my conscience I scream.

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.

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.