Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  Sep 2014 apurva khadye
Kareshma
Under the night sky walking with the moon
I hum a little song with a lazy old tune,
I live here at the sea but still afar I see,
what is known as, the tunnel of dreams

Dark it is when you get right inside
They say by the end, is a different life
Some who have gone, have never yet returned
Some who have returned haven't spoken a single word
Fear on their faces is only that I see

Night inside it is and cold blows the air
Think I am a fool as I walk by its side
Think I might die and never then return

But then again I ponder,  
and take a step forward
If I enter here never, only I will yearn,
yearn for the story that I longed to hear
That man who walked this tunnel, who walked till the end,
who conquered all his fears, found his glory day

Who knows I might, never then return
The only belief I have , the one to which I stick
By the end of this tunnel, is a new world
Of shiny bright light, an unseen world  

Think this in my head and take a step inside,
for here shall see me never,  
cause I will move in darkness,
till I reach a new, beginning at the end ,
of what is still known as the tunnel of dreams
Sometimes all it takes is taking that step, that one risk to achieve your goal. The one who is patient reaches till the end,the one who isn’t doesn’t.
  Sep 2014 apurva khadye
Gaby Comprés
i just want
to be with You,
to be alone,
to walk with You
and to hear the
gentle whisper
of your voice.
apurva khadye Sep 2014
I don’t know what to say,
Travel to which way...
Can’t even decide what virtue is
& what is vice,
Seems like living in fool’s paradise...
Where everything is belong to me,
I have nothing to loose...
When you are with me,
& I am with you...
If you ever fall in love with a writer,
Your days will be musical
The nights will have their own song
Not anymore will you look at things as regular-
The trees will seem to give you more than just shade,
The sunlight will trickle down on your skin
Bouncing off the window pane
The wind will do a waltz through your hair
Your eyes will carry the universe in them
All the things will not be the same again.

If you ever fall in love with a writer
I don’t promise that it will be easy
For, writers can be insane sometimes
What good is love if you don’t jump off sanity?
They are forgettful. Terribly so.
They will not remember anniversaries
Or to buy tickets for your favourite show
But, they will never forget how you smell after a bath,
The colour of your eyes,
Thoughts of you will never escape their mind.

Writers can be clumsy,
They will trip over their own shabby scattered notes,
Spill the ink onto a fresh piece of poem
But, the way their fingers will trace stories on your bare skin,
And how they will carefully settle
The baby hair on your forehead before kissing,
Will seem to you as their finest work.

If you ever fall in love with a writer,
They will never tell you how much
They love you back until,
Your absence makes it hard for them to breathe,
Makes you more of necessity.
They will, then, hold your hand,
Close their eyes
And cry like they have already lost you;
The tears will spread over their face
Like delicate words on paper,
With each one rolling down their cheek
Their clutch of you will grow tighter.
It is when they open their eyes,
Look at you as a miracle in disguise,
That each part of their soul will sing
To you their love
And the million “I love yous” you wrote to them
Will not be enough.

If you ever fall in love with a writer,
Kiss them in the stormy rain,
Drive them to a distant place
They have never been to,
And watch carefully their expressions change,
Build them sand castles
And let the tides wash it away,
Don’t buy them flowers
On Valentine’s day.

For every blown out candle,
every Mazel Tov,
every turn of the tassel,
you gift-wrap what a writer dreads most: blank pages.
It’s never a notebook we need.
If we have a story to tell,
an idea carbonating past the brim of us,
we will write it on our arms, thighs, any bare meadow of skin.
In the absence of pens,
we will repeat our lines deliriously like the telephone number
of a parting stranger
until we become the craziest one on the subway.

If you really love a writer,
find a gravestone of someone who shares their name and take them to it.
When her door is plastered with an eviction notice, do not offer your home.
Say I Love You, then call her the wrong name.
If you really love a writer,
bury them in all your awful and watch as they scrawl their way out.

If you sincerely love a writer,
They will carry you inside them
Till you are all they remain,
Hold you like the glint in their eyes
If a writer falls in love with you,
You can never die.
apurva khadye Sep 2014
If I could only knew how to sing in the language of silence,
Then I would have pour my all heart to you,
By singing the song of my love,
I would have given it the most melodious form to explain my love to you,
That love which I have been explaining to myself ever since I met you,
But unable to put it in words,
So, I will use the language of silence to express it to you,
That language
Which will be sung by my eyes,
Understood by your eyes...
apurva khadye Sep 2014
I want you by my side,
All the time...
On the days cuddly,
On the nights chilly
I want to share charming chats...
And also the silence when there is no need for that...
I want to share mirthful joy...
And also the tearful cry...
I want to steal glances when everyone is around,
And also lost in your arms when no one surrounds...
If anyone calls me greedy for wanting so much then let them be...
Cause even at the end of the world i just want U & Me
apurva khadye Sep 2014
"The moment has come to my heart,
But my heart couldn't feel it..
Now that I see it I love it...
Wanted to express my love to you,
But my courage was unable to built,
So I summoned as my messenger to wind...
In which language should I bind,
Where do such lovely words I find??"

— The End —