‘freedom is a state of mind’
Wars fought
Wars lost
Freedom gained
Freedom lost.
The mind is almost devoid of peace,
When a beast sits entrapped inside.
It is like two magnets of the same charge.
Conflicting and warring,
Trying to meet at a certain point.

Barbed wires of suppression
blunt knives of oppression
The head is a place of chaos
full of:
‘I’m guilty’ ‘No you are not’
‘I’m too proud’ ‘no you are not’
The oppressor just mollifies the pain of the suppressor
It is too weak to overcome it.
The head then bursts
And out flow tears, tears in a million shades
For they signify such different sorrowful tastes
The person, he sighs
An empty mind
Peaceful mind
War fought
War won
Freedom lost
Freedom *gained

We have our timezones.
You have lit my nights
with oil lamps,
and scribbled words,
dripping ink,
bright blue circular, circumventing words.

I have glistened your days,
with sunshine,
and the smell of rain,
with sprinkles of cool
breeze showering on you.

My candles and rays,
are tip toeing out of sight,
I fall short of noticing them,
(partly because work kills me)
but more so,
because you have made
them seamless,
and thriving.

My pages,
do not boast of love,
or affection,
or any of that miserable
writing,
they screams passion,
they rip into anger
and courage,
belief,
belief you sewed into me,
with your gentle hands,
fidgeting and seeking.

And your eyes,
do not burn from the sunshine,
they glow,
and stare into the depths,
I see in you.
I know you hate the rain,
so mine doesn’t actually come down on you,
it lingers with its scent teasing you.
The cold breeze doesn’t
suffocate your breath,
it travels through
your body- within your veins,
it is breath.

We have our timezones,
but we meet at the horizon.

I hear you**
When you crib about me not being able to hear properly
I don’t hear you
When you shout and scream in order to be ‘audible’ but when while walking away you mumble stale words
I hear those
I hear you
When your face’s mercurial behavior moulds into a scowl
I hear it.

I hear your sighs.
I hear you complaining
I hear everything,yet nothing
I hear  nothing but things that *****
but that’s how human nature is,isn’t it?

A time spent, a time well spent.
Woven in prejudices, yet staying on the right path
That’s what I admire most about you
Apart from that giggle that reaches extreme heights
Or the hugs which reach great lows for me
Or the unending conference calls
Or the cross multiplication
There is something more to you, you are more
You are beautiful
Maturity isn’t common
It hadn’t spread across your heart till a few months back
But,I’m glad it finally did.

There is a sense of morose looming over everyone these days
except you
You,love, spread the love
you’re the beacon of hope that most are devoid of
You've been crafted into an enticing sculpture
This is an individual piece of writing for you
It can be for anyone
It can be read for anyone
It can be interpreted by anyone
But it talks of you
It talks of you like the birds that chirp about a particular song but the humans fail to understand it
It talks of you like the giggles shared with everyone yet, thinking of only one person
You,it talks just about you.
I love you
I love you like the sun loves its fellow stars
like the plants that love the dew drops dressing their naked body in the morning
like the colour golden loves the colour pink
I hope for a life with you
A life of disappointments
of cracks and shackles
of bridges and of flowers
of fast currents and stillness
I just hope we always have a life, together.
Today I feel like telling this to everyone :
Let’s ***** up
Let’s let go of things and rejoice
Let’s be happy about everything
Let’s knit our friendship with everyone
Let’s not worry for just a minute?
let’s be you

This piece of writing can be for anyone
But it talks of you,who you are
who you will be
who you were
and how beautiful you always are,were,will be.

Have you ever walked into a room filled with people
and found a bit of you in every soul?
Have you ever observed how their bodies sway
and how each twist and turn has your essence?
Have you ever come to the realization that you aren't
unique?
Have you ever, ever wet your pillow after that realization?
Then,
*let's burn away,together

Day before, I received a red chocolate box,
there at my doorstep.

It's like I was the bird waiting for a worm,
and it was there
feeding my neediness.

The box was almost the colour of his lips
and it smelled of him

All of this was
it was like a book
Only, the pages weren't inked with blue

I didn't open the box
till the time I felt
was an August gathering
I kept delaying it.

I never really wanted to open it
I'd br destroying a thousand reds of our love
if I did

Days-the box changed its odour
like my face's colour on a winter day
it grew pungent and grotesque

The scissors to cut our ribbon readied
I opened the box
and there
in a red box of chocolates
lay a dead red heart

I’m a ghost
as I wander around the house

you see me when you look in the mirror
I am the ghost of your past
the mirror knows me through and through
precisely why it doesn’t reflect you
It doesn’t know you
it has prejudices now
it knows the hand that had slithered down its body and slyly smiled
it knows the reflection that had carved itself
it knows designed perfection.
Now
you decay in a sea with similar fish
you were hit by a wave that you never saw coming
a storm that brought you down
on footsteps
leading to entropy
and you tumbled
down.

Both of them were perfect for me
'You're beautifully insane'
'You're insanely beautiful'
I chose the one whose existence mollified this feeling of ugliness seeping into me

A beautiful lady sat on a rock
amid the vast ocean,
which smelled strongly of clarity.

The wind didn't seem to bother her,
neither did the water which seemed to ***** onto her tail,
she was at peace.

However, the human world looked like a mess from where she sat
but then she saw,
A child; rather carefree,
playing with tiny *****
no worries of getting hurt
no worries of bleeding.
To the child it was just an adventure.

The maiden thought long and hard
maybe the mess isn't present
maybe we tend to imagine it like a mirage.

Just so we feel real,
just so we aren't invisible,
just so people talk to us.

Just so we become a carcass for the vultures to feed on.