Whisky, all on my veins, the
golden liquor, The fine
malted grain spirit, aged in the
oak barrels for years,
The exquisite taste, with an ice,
or two for its anger to calm,
with zests of an orange, with
a lemon peel hooked on the glass,
with the light sip, savouring it
all over the taste buds, But
Its not why the glass is held,
All the times, its not all, Its,
Its about letting go, of which
can't be forgotten, letting go of what,
can't be let gone, most of all,
Burning the affectionate heart,
to debris, never being able to love.....

I write poetry,
Just not for everyone,
to cry, or to laugh,
or to feel for me,
But for myself,
To read them later,
to recall the times,
I was happy, or
In pain, reminding myself,
to look up, and move on.....

As I opened the old wooden windows,
And pulled aside the drapes,
A playful little breeze
made me shiver.

It was dark outside,
With The Sun peeking through the clouds,
And the roads were wet when,
The old memories of You
Flashed from the past, When
You kissed me on that rainy night,
With Your dark swollen wet lips,
And I felt the ambiance of sanctity,
And we were encircled by love,
With a promise of being us forever.

Now the distance of our hearts
are far than ever, And
left broken, As we are just fragmented memories,
That sometimes a dark breeze recalls.....

As You compliment
The barren wine glass
with Your reflection
that it projects, and
it shies to it's curves,
as Your's are the one,
That it portrays, and I
gazed at You, flattering
my eyes, blushing red,
when You smiled and
tucked Your hair behind
the ears, and whispered
the words with Your
polished burgundy lips,
I realized, The almighty
gave me a gift. I
Poured the wine gently,
The glass was still shy,
As it's wine was dull
to Your lips, Then I knew
That, You are,
The craving to me,
That wine,
Will ever be.....

Time slipped off my mind,
So did life and reality.
But as they hanged the lights,
and started planting the
green neons, I recalled time,
Just two days to the
Great Indian festival,
Where I visioned her,
With the red dress,
And the big round ear rings,
Walking the pavements with me.
The lights seemed vibrant,
The breeze smelt catkins,
And the rusty autumn leaves
filled the streets, where
we walked down with hands gripped.
Ow what beautiful a time.

But time ain't going to be the same,
My hands would soon be left free,
My heart torn apart, with blood
filling up her empty soul, As
We would face the time, with
wet eyes and a heavy voice, as
The next time, The lights
would be dimmed, the breeze,
would smell whisky, The rusty leaves,
fill my hair, Where she kissed me,
Under the same tree.....