I have been to the depths of madness,
Yet I haven't lost my sanity.
I cling onto it like a mother
clings to her child's dead body.
I have seen my worst selves resurrect and being crucified
Under the weight of all my sins.
Yet, I have never willingly committed a crime.
Like the wooden dock at a port that holds all ships
from sinking to the wrath of the ocean currents,
I have harboured my evil
deep within me
With great power and diligence.
It's a quiet storm raging inside me.
My insanity threatens to spill out
to the edges of my constraints,
blurring the sight of blood on my hands.
For a tiny moment, my smile changed
giving way to something sinister lurking
in my soul.
And then it was gone like a fleeting wind
moving swiftly to a distant land.
But the wind has seen my self inflicted wounds,
She whispers the truth, she knows me truly that
I am a bigger omen than the crows and the raven.
Two tides clash fighting for control.
Day and night juxtaposed in a singular skin.
All hell is beginning to break loose.
The more I try to mend myself,
the harder the waves rock my ship.
The more I try to breathe,
the more the air begins to drown me.
In order to silence my cries,
it pushes me to a gentle hush.
Silence has never been this loud.
My insanity has never been this dangerous.

My skin bleeds in anguish,
I do not understand my eyes.
My lips are charred,
My legs are aching.
Perhaps because for a long time they have been carrying the burdens of beauty.
I feel ugly to my core,
It's a truth I have accepted.
I see pretty girls in glamorous fashion,
I look down at my worn shoes and jacket.
I don't like my body.
Perhaps we can exchange our mortal trappings.
Then I could be the beauty with a brain,
And I won't have to compensate
For the ugliness running in my blood veins.
My hands are trembling,
I dislike my ****** structure .
Nobody could love my body, they could perhaps love my soul.
It's a compensation that I always pay.
For If I am ugly and mean,
I think I will be a bigger loser.
Somewhere I have to win.
Pride is a false illusion that I feel for my medals and trophies.
Nothing matters because
My body cannot be loved in this lifetime.

I am definitely no poet but I like to write and I wish I could capture in my poetry
(if it can be considered poetry),
the melancholy of changing seasons
and empty sidewalks and long secret
fleeting glances.
Longing and Desire burning in the flames of youthful passion.
Or true love if that exists, I am sure it does.
The afternoon silence or
the echoing laughter on a windy day,
my love for my family, the radiant smiles of my friends.
The way sunlight decorates the ocean
waves in summer, disappears in the
monsoon,
Only to return back with shades of golden
in autumn and peeking desperately,
Trying to warm the frozen earth in desolate winter.
The utter feeling of loneliness that
connects each and every one of us,
The emotional weight of saying a goodbye
to the last year at new year's,
My childlike sense of adventure and
wonder,
Or my dread when it comes to talking
about death.
But mostly and desperately I sincerely
hope that my poetry
(that on some days I am not even sure can
be considered poetry),
captures the essence of loving and living,
A life well lived and loved that would be
called mine.

I wonder why melancholy
paints my soul a deep red
when midnight strikes,
And the colors on the clock change.
The firecrackers make noise,
And the world transitions
From one year to the next.
I wonder why nostalgia engulfs
the chaos of my winds
When time passes away slowly
On New Year's Eve.
I wonder how I could ever
Say gracias
To all those people who
Taught me, hugged me and
gave me the strength to live and love,
For my family and friends I am grateful.
I wonder why melancholy
paints my soul a deep red
When midnight strikes.
In this ever-present grief of how
Time passes away so quickly,
I reside, I reside.
I wonder why red fades
And green blossoms.
It is the way of life.

I asked a flute player
if he ever missed the melancholy of his tunes,
the way they twist and travel in the afternoon silence.
When he sleeps at night all lonely under a big sky,
the bag of flutes by his side.
He looks like the Almighty Krishna if Krishna was ever lonely,
for he spends too many restless nights.
He said that the grief of loving is what we carry home,
the grief of knowing that death takes away all.
The melancholy of life that we all feel under our layers,
the loneliness twisting and paining our restless hearts like the tune he plays every afternoon.
The tune reminds me of death and life
and my loved ones still alive.
I hope this grief of knowing
too much does not drive me to insanity.
I wish someone could come and listen to my heart.

The universe oscillates between life and death,
Hanging in the equilibrium.
Two forces beyond infinity
Will always be creation and destruction.
Memories are dying,
Moments are being lived for the first time.
Galaxies are exploding into multicolours.
Stars are fading into oblivion,
their glow dimming.
Nebulae are rejuvenating,
painting galaxies upon galaxies.
The sun, ever present
is burning its own energy.
The edges of time
are constantly unfurling.
Our body's remains are transforming
into mud and soil.
A tree grows, its branches are withering.
Vines are creeping on tree bark,
The butterfly is taking its first flight.
A bird is flying for the last time.
Somewhere, there's a beep emanating from a hospital machine.
The line goes flat,
The loved ones are crying
Tears of grief.
In the same building,
A new born's life is being celebrated,
The loved ones are crying tears of joy.
In the blink of an eye,
Waves crash
and waves recede.
In the blink of an eye,
The circle of life is being completed.
In the same second,
Humanity has lived a thousand lifetimes.
In the same second,
Humanity has died a thousand lifetimes.
For us, a lifetime passes.
For the universe,
It's a small oscillation.
An ode to the infinite
balance between
lives and deaths,
Creation and Destruction.
The dances of life and death
collide painting countless
cycles of life.
I take a moment as I pay
my gratitude to the universe
for including my circle of life
in its vast canvas.

I am just an image,
Like a flickering candle waiting to die
Like a glimpse of the sun on cloudy days
Like dead roses on my mother's grave
Like dried plants in the flower vase
Like the reflection in my lover's gaze.
I am just an image,
Like summer evenings spent on your porch
Like the first kiss that never happened
Like the scent of your perfume
Like the first time I saw you
Like one sided love and hopeless dreams
Like days that never end and nights that end too fast
Like thoughts that scare me
Like withered and dried sunflowers on my grave
Like my coffin's reflection in my mother's gaze
Like the life I wanted.
But at the end of the day
I am nothing at all.
I am just a  flickering candle waiting to die,
Just an image.
But all these memories that make
Me me are like fleeting winds
That pass away too quickly,
Sometimes too short for my liking.
Without all these moments, I am nothing
But just an image
In someone's eyes.

There was a princess
lost in and dazed by springtime sweetness.
Picture perfect gowns and rolling meadows,
In her Kingdom
Spring went on and forever.
People wished they lived at such a place,
evergreen flowers and the youth of nature.
Wished they could experience it all.
But the princess was locked inside her palace,
woe the young woman couldn't touch the flowers.
She sat there in her gloomy chamber,
looking outside to the greenest grass.
She was sad and numb but she danced in her room,
wore spring gowns for there was spring at her heart.
She breathed in spring air from within the cold walls,
An ever longing desire in her eyes to touch the spring flowers.
Little does she know for she is spring Herself,
So she touches her heart.

I lost a count of days
As they passed, one after another
A continuous seam blurring together.
As the flowers bloomed and the sun rose,
I forgot that summer was still too long, never ending like one single giant happy day.
A little bittersweet, mostly filled with silence.
Summer afternoons are never ending.
The trees are covered by a yellow hue, not a soul awake
As the shadows of children dancing on grass dances on the walls.
That used to be long ago,
Now afternoons are not an escape to have mischief your way rather dull and boring.
But the nostalgia of Summers long ago is exciting
It keeps me awake, sometimes the tears or a sad smile,
As I lose count of my days,
Waiting for the summer afternoon to pass
As the earth breathes and the birds rest.

A beautiful day in September,
The air is breathing yellow,
Painting the leaves golden
with each exhale.
Hues of autumn are unfolding
Warmth and tenderness intertwine,
With sunlight spreading on tree branches.
There's merry laughter in the hamlets,
Their laughter merges
with the sunlight laughing.
It is a reflection of
September's joy.
Somewhere the song of summer is ending,
But what a gift it is to be able to live
In September's warmth,
it protects me
From all sadness.

The moon and the stars
are so beautiful when I look at them with
Drunken romance in my eyes.
The low hanging moon reminds me vainly
Of my lover's brown and beautiful eyes.
The stars spread out on the inky charcoal of night have painted
My destiny so that it collided
with that of my lover.
The dark blue and blackish expanse of the night sky above my head
Feels so magical like my lover's
dark hair touching my face.
The night lingers on like a sweet melody
One that reminds me of them.
The calm sounds of nocturnal birds
Alive at this hour reminds me of
Passionate and sleepless nights.
In this midnight hour, these animals of prey
Devour their prey, satisfying
Their long drawn hunger,
Just like you and me.
Very much alive in the devil's hour,
When the fog of madness and passion
Descended upon us like the mist settling in the treetops at night.
At night, we became one,
As you bit my skin and drew out blood.
You devoured me in mad hunger,
As the jackals howled sarcastically almost taunting that our love was a bad omen.

My lover has brown and beautiful eyes
That I love to get lost in.
Their dark hair are like streams of pleasure, flowing till the waist is touched.
I trace my fingers on their skin,
Electric impulses are on my skin.
Our lips meet like how morning dew gently blesses the leaves.
My lover has brown and beautiful eyes,
Prettier than the moon and the night skies.
Our hands mould like running water on rocks.
On long nights, I am unaware where they end and I began.
Our bodies are tangled,
Their touch is hot and cold at once.
I shiver beneath their presence.
The mystery of love has now been known.
I once believed that pleasure was paramount,
Your gentle kisses have given me greater joy and I revere
My lover who has brown and beautiful eyes.

The clouds rise above heaven
And rain joy on dry lands
The trees bend to every breeze
that flows like water
Mountains have been wiped clean
Of all dust and now their beauty has clarity
The green of forests, even from afar shines
brighter now
As the monsoon has cleansed all earth.
The sky has been stolen from its sparkling blue
The brush strokes of grey are present on God's canvas.
The hills have been adorned with crowns in the form of clouds.
The rivers and streams have come to life,
Their youthful energy bubbling with laughter.
And across many lands, there lies an ocean, crucified beneath all thunder.
My dear Earth has now been rejuvenated.