they buried a poet
sprinkled his words over coffin
tossed a book into dirt alongside
and waited few decades
to have a leaf sprout
for winds to carry his lines
far
to one with open ears
another circle in a world of squares
have phrases strain down the cheeks
into ink smeared on paper


buried in a trashcan
in a diary
in a library
in dirt
everywhere really...

So many catastrophes isn't it?
If all you had was hell, imagine if I were the world where you are standing right now, right this year, too painful, too depressing; Be careful what you wish for.

I always write about love
and think I'm into it
And think of its twist and turn,
It wasn't that easy to love and
To be loved.
Each day we're swooning by
The comfort of the Sun,
I could not remember the last time
The light had left me;
No one would ever take a glance
on their dark times.

I know, I am complete--  living on a guarantee that
The stars will hold on into the night,
Each night where you will hear the
Swan's lullaby
And in morning, you will embrace
The thoughts of last night's catastrophe.

O my sunshine

You nestled  like a willow,
broad arms brushed against mine, slowly
yet moving as kind as the look in the eye
filled with light seeping through the window panes.

O my sunshine

You are as tender as our mouth full of mirth
you are a giver as a room for sentiments and memories.

You called me "my sunshine"
And so you are.

I saw many people who had a place in my heart once and now they're just an unforgiven memory.

I'd been a vessel;
I don't want you
to bear the feeling
of emptiness.

It wasn't a lingering feeling
but a shot in the dark;
love letter once written
in the middle of spring,
until these words left frozen.