I see a woman in the woods
sitting by her hut kneading dough.
She is bonny, sultry and country-side,
her face radiant with a glorious glow,
like the sky bleeding crimson with a tranquil halo.
Only the trees in the backdrop are bit scraggy.

But what is she doing alone in the wilderness ?
No woman of our time in her right mind
would go to the woods, let alone live there.
Maybe this is why,
Its for good that she is in a painting
hung on the wall in my room --not real nor alive,
luckier than those who were ***** last fortnight,
and their bodies left to rot here in the forest.

Who is gonna paint those women in the woods ?

All of us change. Time is not moving but we are, measuring this stillnes within our petty clocks only helps us count our days until that final second strikes. I prefer to remain firm but humble passing away into this silent space. Revolving and rotating, Changing my seasons, Witnessing Death & Sadness, Feeling Happiness & Love. Living this single second of the infinite time which engulfs us, I keep breathing.

I wonder if you know
of the catheter that
pierces my vein,
and of the mask
which helps me breathe,
All those endless nights
Wincing in pain.

I wish i could tell you
of how my blood
spluttered when they
pulled out the needle,
but nothing compares to
the pain of how i could
not tell you these things
for you have gone
so far away,
for you have gone
so far away.

It hurts more than
the catheter in my vein.

September.
Every year you come
And take a lot more away.
First my old man
Then her too
they were love
of my life and true.
September .
If only could you
see the crimson storms
rumbling in my hearts
and not come soon.

Hearts.
Yes, I have theirs too.

Go away September.
Until comes the moon.

Love was never for dreamers
for it shows dreams of its own
never fulflled not even close
dreamers have died seeing this unending prose.

I dont wish to die
never hoped for it or vied.
i wish to fly
even if it means to be alone.

My love may never come true
nor do my dreams of us
i will make dreams of my own
and fly and fly all alone.

I don't want to stay
because i feel
i might fall for u
and u might not feel the same.

Again.

I never wanted to leave
i never did
I never wanted to stray
never.. even if god's are in way.

Never.

I was never one of them
I was a god send
my nature lies in trust
my words mean no harm
Treacherous,superfluous
liars,fake,malicious souls
wander around me
with their potential harms
I couldn't be them
I can never be.
My hearts of soul
lies not in these flukes,
These virtues of monotony
I am not one of them.

I remember my grandpa
clay of skin penetrating eyes,
bald head,wisdom lines,shrinking deep within.
always jovial and calm,
rarely he smiled,silence ineffable
never did he scold,as i said ,jovial.
I couldn't talk to him an eye to an eye,
seemed like he knew my darkest secrets,
but never did he told me,always trusted me.

I remember my grandpa.
I remember his last days.
always quit,sleeping whole day,
but never did he lost that look of a hawk,
sometimes at night went out for a walk.
Oh! I remember how i used to wait for him
to get back from work and he always came with a smile on his face.

but one day he went away as usual,
caught my ******* to say goodbye,
I don't remember seeing his face,just a touch of hands,
then he went away.
i waited for him,and he came.
not as usual,not on his feet,but in my father's lap,
my father wailing away,i felt a pang of guilt..
i saw his feet ,tout as a stork,
cold as ice.
His whole body
shrivelled like a dry flower in its own shell,
i touched his bald head,as i used to do,
only this time it was cold and he didn't frown,
i bet i saw him smile,as we all cried.

I remember my grandpa.
hawk eyes,clay of skin..
i remember him.

This morn i was reading The elements of style
which i kept as a desktop file
you see a writer suggested it to me
said:"Dude,you wanna be a writer then you got to get this knowledge vile."
being a begineer i downloaded the file
and started reading the Elements of style
First two to four lines-- i am good
next two lines-- got me confused
and before i reach the next-- stupified
i called the writer again and said:
"I don't get anything"
"Oh that's just perfect,you figured it out quickly",replied the writer
I was flabbergasted,"what do you mean?"
"Explain it to me when you understand it,will you ?",
and then she hanged up.
I must say she got me this while.

I loved her lips
she adored my hair
both of us fondled
in that hot summer air
i would make excuses to meet her,
you see,she was my neighbour
and at times would do me the favour
but the pleasure exceeded beyond imaginations
i would wake up everyday for her fondly sensations.
Yes i loved her lips and yet never kissed them
she loved my hair and would always touch them,
i craved that mole beneath her lower lip and the one on the shoulder
the two black dots had become the center of my endless fantasies.
At times she would press her against me
and my whole body shivered in a fountain of lust
she would look at me with those luscious eyes as if now she would tear my flesh and eat me up,
Oh! I should have eaten her up the very first time.
I loved her lips,i still do
she adored my hair, (I wonder does she now?)
thinking about her makes my soul bare
and writing certainly doesn't do much fair.
Then i went away as did she
and with this ended,the steamy noons,the luscious looks
endless fantasies and her glossy lovely lips.
I still love her lower lip and the mole beneath it,I still do.

These emotional fools,
are being used as a tool,
Why do they care,everything that happens?
is there no one else in these so called "lands of just and the fair"?
These emotional fools,
what do i do?
are being used as a tool...
now i leave them too,
i don't want to be one..
ohh! i will go insane,idea itself profane..
These emotional fools,
what do i do?
what could anybody do?
To These pathetic fools...