When you sit swinging at every blink of my eyes.
The dark circles under sing the setting moon lullabies.
Free shadows of spring sunlight, and whispers in the corridors.
” I wish to never be alone”, says the Gardener in his mother tongue.
He pulls up hope in a tin can pouring over new buds, his whistles add sweetness to my ears.
that Mynah that sits under the banyan tree, sits on it today.
And sparrows picking at raw berries, flutter as I near them.
Wet grass pins at my feet, random flowers that mysteriously grew; falling from the paradise.
Here’s to my very own forest of life & death.
For I have failed many friends, those which never came back.
Though I waited, and I wait.
The woman in my house, with rags for clothes, dead faith that lives in the cracks of her lips.
And when she walks, her bunch of keys rattle her bottle of liquor she considers hidden. Her hands that pet rotis and light stoves, escape destiny and destroy hope.
Olive shaded walls of my home, frequently fall short of peace.
The ringing of bells from the latest exhibit, the tv making up for all those who were once before.
I raise the volume from 45 to 80,
All sorts of sacred prayers surround my very being.
I devour my pancakes and drain down coffee like religion itself.
shattered chandeliers bring me patterns of floating aspirations.
Sofa’s hold me any way I Can sit, while I forge some sleep, and fool my mind.
Rested i am not.
Empty i am.
My walls are so high, i only feel free at the top.
And sometimes think I’d like to fall.
when the waters from the shore mumble to me, “don’t fall for the charades.”
I stay put and cherish all the beauty.
At least, that’s what I think it is.
A passing wind slips from my hands, parting from every inch of my spine.
I plead, “take my heart with you.”
And so,
my heart beats in my rib cage,
But never at peace or in one place.

Although the (your) carpet under my feet hurts me, i still bear to stand on it.
I wonder how you have made it so far, but the worst thing you have created is this common ground.
Many have sacrificed their lives, there’s so much blood.
I bet someday there will be mine too.
You like to save this as memoirs; of the deaths of souls.
Lost them to you, your victorious prize.
I would go down this instance, but I’m stronger than you assume. I'm reluctant.
Just like every other woman was when she stood here.
So im writing this down for centuries to become.
Wrath that intensifies as I uncover you is perpetual, the softest thing about you is hardly the first time we met.
I walked this distant, even though my feet ached, even though i couldn’t carry it.
I wandered this far and made it to these (un)common grounds that have needles for yarns, hot coals for clouds.
I am like a withered child whose unaddressed anxiety turns to immorality.
I have despised you for so long; I have forgotten what love feels like.
Each morning I carry fog into every deserted island, wishing I was deserted too.
But I’m afraid the day I will crawl my way out of here, I will slip into old patterns.
There must be something you should be unwilling of, it simply stops you from doing it.
Fear is an absurd paltry word, it fathoms all the energy in the world to push away one or maybe two things.
I fear several details, and maybe that is why I loathe being here.
I am tired now, so I will lie down;
Make place for these needles to pierce into my back.
I would prefer them not to harm so much, but beauty is pain.
Its agony, sickness and ache.
I just never considered love would be.
I close my eyes and try to imagine every softer and brighter thing I Can remember; and that is only something I know is yet to come.
A (my) lover of muse, of candles, and crisp leaves.
Of moonlight and freezing breeze.
Of everything I ever hoped for; but less.
Our dreams would merge on the longest night. And we shall spend ages in each other's arms; an undying sight.

I was desolate.
The sky was never purple or pink
I was inside, and my heart ached.
I ran out of things to do
I lay in my bed staring at the fan taking rounds.
There were tons of manuscripts, waited to be complete,
On the brown wood table on which paint has dried upon.
The canvases have fallen down; the nails are still deep into the walls.
I still tie curtains into a knot so that the sun will shed some tears on my bed too.
The lights I don't need anymore hang on the walls.
Mails are all left on read, I remember there used to be 506 unread.
I'm exhausted of doing everything in my head, the bedsheet is falling off my bed.
Thoughts that make no sense are crowding in my head.
I have no place to keep all the clothes I never wear.    
My hands feel manly sometimes, but feminine at others.
Like when I hold a knife or want to color.
I pull the hair-tie off and my hair fall onto my shoulders, bounce; they feel soft on unpleasant days. Cliché
I live not far from the ground, though if I fall I could possibly die.
There's a light I intend to use for reading at night, but i never do.
I never read.
I write, I bleed
I write, I bleed
I write.
I bleed.
And to reading,
I don't pay heed.

You're alone, but not quite.
I haven't seen you shine brighter than tonight.
You hide behind the veil of the sky at sunrise and sometimes you're so strong that you are visible amongst storms that pass the night.
I'm fixing my hourglass, not sure how to do it yet.
Holding the sand in my palms that doesn't seem to stay at one place.
I want to gift you time
But I guess time's a broken spell now.
All that was never once is all frozen now.
You're just beneath my yellow pillow,
And underneath the golden sun
I'm afraid I will let you fall
But you don't say a word.
Of craters that define you
That sits beautifully over your eyes, carved into your cheeks
And answer what moonlight feels like.
I'm caught up between fixing the hourglass and sending you back home.
But I know if I let you go,
I must stay here as long as I can, holding cherry blossom seeds in my hands.
If your luminescence ever lingers near I shall plant these in your craters.
Let them bloom for me to sit under.
Then you and me,
Shall dream where dreams are made
"Lost among the stars we are,"
Is what I'll only say.

One year later, I'm still where you left me.
Tired, undone and unfinished.
Untangling the knots
Of disappointment.

Two years later, I'm halfway there,
Still holding on,
To the promises you made.
Nearly forgetting,
You were never there.

Three years gone,
There's love for me to feed on.
Roughly recollecting the sense
Of your touch.

Four years lost,
There's so much I've gained.
Strength and happiness,
Unduly maintained.

Five years remained,
I've lost count now.

Too busy enumerating,
Favours of people
Who've loved me,
helped me,
And embraced me.

Tell me,
What won?
What gave in?