The sun unfolds, precisely peeking through
the light of stars, dominating ink-spilled nights.
Its rays graze softly on blooming wounds
as sirens set off warnings of incoming dunes.

O vulnerable soul! I pray you stay quiet,
hold dearly onto the kaleidoscopic life
slowly flowing out of your diluted sight.
O transient time! I pray you stay still for a while,
and let the sediments settle—
as the river carries away what's old and vile.

There will be another dawn.
When the sun unfolds again,
its light grazes softly on wounds withered with time.
As sirens hail warnings of unknown threats,

O powerful mind! I pray (and know) you'll never fret.

The fire rises ominously,
transcending boundaries-
engulfing pieces of shredded
papers written lovingly.

There was a look in her eyes, when he wasn't home;
now, it lingers there all alone.
The dimmed candlelight, seems out of frame;
as it flickers the names etched on the stones...

He said, "Our names must be there-
on the wall of destiny.
Oh! don't you cry;
When I am gone, honey."

The candle burns once more,
A silver name on the midnight's glow.
As she traces her finger on the wall before,
She knows he's lying down below...

As I stand bare in rain,
There's one thing I noticed among the void
In this valley of desolation and pain
Humans fit in puzzles meant to get destroyed

As I stand across all alone
In this field full of flowers newborn
I know deep somewhere, fragments of hope
Wait for me still, down this heavenly *****

As I stand on top of this cold mountain
I know, I am no more lost again
The wind and stars is where I lie
So I'll keep praying for them till I die.

A gift of perpetual silence,
from a deafening scornful frequency;
Eternal tranquility, we chase,
so is it considered victory?
Victorious it must feel,
for the one who departs abrupt;
In the halt prior to mine,
leaving a chaos in my heart.

Sediments are yet to be cleared
From the window sill of the days bygone
Handprints of an owner's ignorance
Remains carved on the glass alone.

Fossils of a lively refuge
Still masked by dust veils
Home, where once honey grew
Now marks the tombstone of loves's grave.

Novelty springs under
The eternal fountain of life
The creatures of days bygone
Stop to greet the future hive.

Look out for the flickering lights
I heard some glass cracking
shards geting swallowed by the hurricane's tyranny
and the tyranny pleading at patriarchy's feet.
Look out for the desparation
penetrating out of rough gilded eyes
flowers wrapped in hands withering over time
and love swirling among rusted frames
   in oldest bus stand of town.

You have begun staring emptier than me,
the spiritual distortion leaves me speechless.
Of all the parts you could've picked,
You chose the mole right above my upper lip.
As if you have the power to remove
birth marks with an empathetic laser surgery...
And sometimes the gaze flutters down and up,
instantly to my eyes when the realisation hits,
and the void loses its ingenuity to greed.

How would you wish to envisage this transience,
now, that you have ascended this mortal realm;
Thousands of references under your options
now select, with your gifted conscience.

Maybe the reference of an orphan
thriving under the rich's shade,
wandering under the lights of merry families,
disappearing as the nights fade?

Or an angle of a just born lover,
with echo reverberating by her forever's bed,
as he holds her hand, breathing promises,
and unconsciously tethered to his last breath?

How about a trusted devotee of the deity,
a mother who just got sent
in resonance to her prayers, an apology letter,
from her beloved son's regiment?

Or maybe the man bearing the joy of his life,
on shoulder so trivial and fragile
an anonymous griever, as they called him,
the pallbearer of his best friend's casket?

So how would you wish to envisage this transience,
now, that you have ascended this mortal realm;
How would you improvise these incidents
Written under destiny's poetic license?

If I were that scar above your rose tinted lips,
of whom you keep picking and removing dead cellular dust,
I probably would have bled more than you think.
I can not shed tears, possibly.
The hate you show me rises
from your porous subcutaneous layer of insecurity.
I heard every little wound needs love to heal,
And so will I-
your dearest hideous scar.

The T in talent are pieces of tampered glass
Subjugated under capitalism,
And meticulously carving out worthlessness
  on the talented's carcass.

The A stands for all the crumbs of appreciation
You collect along your way, feeding your right and just pride
Humbled by a dilemmatic correlation
  of efforts and proudness.

The L is tricky, which maybe the love
Or the life that seeps into you through your work,
The ingenuity dies as L extinguishes,
  and you will bear the blame of the consequences.

Once you are done loving, you get greeted with E.
The empathetic reign you have grown from flesh and dust
Withers and begs for sympathy, waiting patiently
  for a high class judgement from the unnamed jury.

All the nihilistic N you preached,
Comes down to your questioning of moralism,
What great have you achieved with your nothingness,
  compared to someone sewing life with devotion?

The T in talent stands for the time
A soul wastes on fixing the tampered glass,
But someone like you who knows how to stand up,
  start with talent tomorrow, a journey from zero regardless.

If ever presented with a platter of choices
I shall choose a certain kind of calmness.
Unlike the one which holds leaves together before storm,
I choose the kind mingled on faces of ambulance drivers
Of my hometown.

volatile observation suspended amidst reality and fiction,
subdued voice echoes down a hallway of convictions;
like a despotic fog blurring options for a swarm of insects
who eventually finds way to a lizard's grotesque carcass.

a feeling, in my gravel ribs, this might be a dead end
staring up at the sky, an atheist's hollow vision;
air and venom flowing through wires of flesh,
tired abusive drunkards- returning home a mess.

my dear texts~"what if, it's nothingness which spirals into life?"
I am left in my bathtub with a glass of honey or wine,
and the last ray of optimism, living vicariously through my mind.

Love is in the rain,
and among the thunder
Love is inside every bird,
shot down by a hunter.

Love touches the horizon,
wandering all around the sea
Love sits still inside every heart,
waiting to be free.

Love hangs in thick air,
creating dainty spots on grass
Love is inside every dust particle,
settling down on a carcass.

Love is among the crowd,
penetrating wide and afar
Love is inside every boy
who has lost his father in war.

Love is in the colours,
spread out on life's palette,
But is love inside every man,
having a heart so scarlet?