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 sunshine 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.

Why do we put poison in our minds?
The way we cling to false hope,
The way we watch the TV until we go blind.
Maybe we want to be blind to all that
happens in the world.
Maybe we want to turn blind to our own
sorrow,
So that we don't drown all together.
Why do we put poison in our bodies?
The way we drink until three a.m.,
The way our fingertips burn as we hold the
cigarette that will eventually burn our
bodies, burn our souls.
The clouds of smoke covering our guilt.
Why do we do anything wrong when we
know what we are doing is wrong?
Has the world not been cruel enough that
we inflict pain upon ourselves?
It is an escape, everything really.
Long nights where a cigarette and a glass
of whiskey becomes our lifeline.
Days when we stare off into space.
Lost in a universe we create in our minds,
Or even worse, when we put on that
obnoxious fake smile.
Loneliness eats away our souls, almost
drags us to hell.
Maybe it isn't an escape rather the last trial
that we all suffer together as we share this
big secret and secretly waste away our
lives in moments of solitude.
Moments of solitude we all need,
Not to feel everything but to forget that we
exist and so does our pain, grief, greed,
hatred, hunger, anger and ambition.
Why do we feel the need to die alone?
Why can't we just be?
Everyday I undergo my trial and enjoy the
last supper alone before I sleep,
Hoping and waiting for life.
Because all I ever do is escape.

Fog and mist rising,
And then disappearing behind the peaks.
Fog and mist rising
From the lake as if
The water itself is burning beneath its lurky surface.
Fog and mist rising and dissolving into the meadows,
Painting the grassland in grey and white.
Fog and mist rising and nestling in the deodars,
Reflecting the icy surface of the water in its vapour.
Fog and mist rises higher and higher than the mountain peaks as if teasing the ***** of the hill.
Fog and mist rising and tainting the hillside until nothing is visible,
Not even the roads in haunted small towns.
Fog and mist rising from nowhere and covering the hills
In blue and grey and white.
Fog and mist rising like an old curse after the rainfall dances.
Fog and mist rising and then disappearing
behind the peaks,
Where there is only the open sky.

Candlelight
drinks my blood from the vine.
Your soft glow
suffocates me at midnight.
Holding close to my chest
I harbour your love,
Your beauty still dazzles me to my core.
Pretentious blues, ugly truths taking flight,
castles built and then ruined by arrogance.
It's you it's you,
it's all for you my love.
Even though I can't compare to your touch.
I know I know
I know I might be nihilistic,
but baby I know I love you.
Please forgive my ugliness.
Please redeem me, free me
from your holdings.
Believe me, relieve me.
Your love will strangle me alive, bury my bones dead my love.
If you need me, need me,
then say so.
Otherwise I might sniff out the candle.
I want to stop dancing with you in the light of the half moon.
But it's you it's you,
it's all for you my love.
Even though your gentle caresses leave bruises on my hands.
I know I know I know
I might be a pessimist,
but you look so beautiful
In the candlelight.
And what is beauty, if not destruction.
I have killed myself over ugly truths.
Might as well I die in glory, take my chances, be remembered for greatness,
like the tragic romance of Romeo and Juliet.
If your love kills me tonight,
that's alright.
It's all for you my love,
You look so pretty in the candlelight
drinking my blood.

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.

The goddess looks breathtaking
In her red saree, an emblem of marriage.
Her skin is soft to touch,
Yet she carries a heavy sword in her hands.
The goddess looks serene and calm,
Only that she is about to **** the darkness of demons who are awaiting their freedom.
The goddess wears Kohl in her eyes,
Only to smudge it with her tears.
As she wins the battles plunging the heart out of evil.
The goddess is a mother, she wears red bangles, a colour for both womanhood and rage,
Intertwined and interconnected since the beginning of time.
The Goddess has given birth to her children
with great pains and no agony can beat her strength.
As Devi would not hesitate to become a bloodthirsty Kali
To protect her children.
Divine femininity I bow to you.
Men can only know the power of violence,
But Devi knows the power of love,
How in times of war, it can be our biggest weapon.
Fueled by the energy to **** not out of hatred or Revenge,
But love that led a Mother to pick up arms
So she could protect us all
from the evil that harbours within.
Devi is divine feminine and I bow to her.
She has been created from the strength of all mothers and sisters and daughters.
She tells us the ancient tale of
how women always have had the hidden strength
To leave trails of destruction, only when forced.
Devi does not bleed every month only to be scared of the blood of
evil rakshasas on her hand.
The goddess will happily drink it
And decorate her hands with the demon's blood,
Spreading it on her fingers like red henna.
Devi looks focused, almost peaceful as she kills Mahishasur.
She doesn't want the glory of power.
Her only truth is love.
Even in the heat of battle, Devi's beauty shines through.
Divine Feminine, I bow to you.

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.

This town holds secrets
Don't you know?
Between the houses and their lawns,
Between the market square and suburbs,
Between the forest and the parks.
A mystery lingers
Like unsettling fog
Suffocating, deadly, murderous.
The longing silence
That draws exhales from townsfolk.
The rolling winter
That fills their hearts with dread.
For the creatures of the mountains
Come down to the haunted town
Drawing blood on sidewalks
To satisfy their frozen hunger.
The people tape their windows
And blind themselves with scissors
For they cannot bear to see the horrors.
Each season, a part of town shrinks away
Like termites eating entire wood slowly
Devouring the taste.
Soon, it will become a ruin
Uninhabited, lost in time, lonely.
What once was the American dream
Now an urban flower in a devastating jungle.
A leftover, remnant of something great, eaten away by greed,
destroyed by self hatred.

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 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.

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 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.

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 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.

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.

I will make films when I grow up. I will descend to madness when I grow up. I will give up when I grow up. I will travel the world when I grow up. I will call you when I grow up. I will fall in love when I grow up. I will create art when I grow up. I will run away to the woods when I grow up. I will cry when I grow up. All humanity has is art and grief. Don't let the art die or the grief perish. Underneath the sky of a thousand stars, we have made a home for ourselves. Poetry and music sustain our wounded souls. Don't let them die a million deaths like innocent men and women killed by innocent men and women. In the blank space of the universe, we all are equal. The hated and the hater are alike in status, imprisoned by false cages of philosophy, a quest long drawn since ancient times, searching for it in urban cityscapes. Cities where nobody cares to know your name, where we are trampled by the crowds. This is the home we have made for ourselves underneath the blanket of a thousand stars. There is no meaning in suffering. We suffer because we search for meaning. All our lives we try to get out of the prison only to be stuck in another prison. In between, moments of light. In between chaos, moments of calm. In between, moments of creation. Humans are art and yet so ugly. Humans are stardust yet their face belongs in the mud. Humans are so capable but so ruthless. Cities where freedom exists in the air. Houses side by side. Autumn shades. Haunted blues. Nostalgia. Music of the soul. What are we? What have we become? A million memories have created my body. A million imprints on my body. Run boy, run to the land of free. Run to the heavens for you have been lied to for your entire life. A life devoid of passion is meaningless. And passion must not be searched in empty spaces of human settlements rather the art our generations have left and will leave for all to see. Art is all that we have as a reflection of ourselves. Art is the proof that we existed and so did our restless hearts and passions. So many of us on this planet we call our home yet we still don't know the meaning of beauty, love or being human. So distracted we have become. Look for passion within. When you try to end your life, your suffering will hold you back. You hate your life yet it will save you. There are giant trees reaching to the sky and barren deserts filled with solitude and galaxies beyond comprehension and mountain peaks we haven't reached. The world is our oyster. It is us. It is the universe breathing in different forms. You are the spirit of the river, the resilience of the mountain and the branch of the tree. All life is connected. All life is suffering. Yet this suffering I enjoy. All that happens in life is life. All grief and love and passion and madness and anger and rage and excitement are akin to the throbbing ocean waves, the thunderstorm painting the sky, the mountain snow being melted. You and me, humanity and art are but one spirit, lost in space trying to reach out to each other, trying to find love in chaos, beauty in ugliness, peace in destruction. War is what gives me the most pain. To **** your own species is foolishness. The pain that she feels, I feel and that's why I must stand up for my fellow human beings. When a tree is uprooted from its home, I feel it's pain. The answer is to feel the suffering. Don't run away from it. Feel the passion. Feel the pain. Feel the magic. You and me, humanity and art are but one spirit, lost in space trying to reach out to each other, trying to love all that is and all that isn't.

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.

Today I saw brown mountain peaks touching the sky and what a grand sight it was,
As I was humbled by the silence of greatness that doesn't need to shout.
As I was mystified by the rolling valleys beneath.
The mountains, so eerily vast and huge made me feel nervous about my silly human apprehensions.
Time has tested the fate of these mountains, their  peaks still don't bend to anyone.
An eagle flew between these great walls, as if taking a casual evening stroll.
I wonder if the bird admires the beauty in the stillness of these earthly structures.
I wish I could be the eagle, flying as high as the top of the hills, as if conversing and chatting with them.
The mountains are obviously not made of smooth rocks and unmarked skin,
Their surface and body have stories to tell.
If you notice, there are rocks on the mountain chest making a pattern just like ocean waves, creating a painting upon a painting of God.
The limestone that flows so easily on the back of the mountain, like beautiful hair let down.
And the curves on top, the bends on its peak,
The mountain is not a triangle.
It's a woman sleeping peacefully,
Do not disturb her,
For she is She is mother Nature...
She embodies the mountain spirit and has great power.
Do not disturb her,
For she is our mother Earth.
Soon, light gets stolen from the blue skies
As stars come to their job shift, it's now their time to shine.
When the moon rises behind the mountain peaks, the cosmic body feels smaller than the hills.
It becomes the cherry on top of the cake,
It becomes the eye of the mountain.
As the hills breathe and rest,
The soil beneath  ever shifting and changing.
The mountains have been crafted over a thousand of years through storms and rain and dust and water.
A thousand years after I die, the mountains will still be there.
Brown peaks touching the sky,
Undefeated and unconquered.
And I will be the eagle flying between the mountain peaks.

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.

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.