Catch me when I'll fall
with the sun rays,
crossing clouds and
bursting into bright
rainbow colours,
Catch me when I'll paint
the fading sky orange,
dancing the monotony away,
I'll come to you, every day,
From dawn to dusk,
Feel my familiar touch,
Around you, don't miss me,
For when the day will fall and
I'll be gone, just look above
And you'll find me there,
Twinkling bright among the stars,
With my promise, with my truest promise,
That I'll meet you again, tomorrow,
Shining into your beautiful arms

Are you a ******?*
Whirlwinds of flashes
Passed in front of her eyes
And she shut them tight,
Remembering,
Had he touched her?
No.
Had he touched her?
No!
Had he touched her?
Yes...
He had touched her deeper
Than the reach of physicality,
He had touched her firmer than
Sensations of all tactile reality,
She knew kisses that tasted of Forever,
Without having kissed at all,
So what could she answer!
She was untouched,
Yet she was not.
She recollected herself,
Replied a meek Yes,
And felt herself violated by
Another alien self,
A tear rolled down silently,
As her soul bled to death.

It must be a strong force unseen
That drives a heart to someone's poetry,

For it's not easy to spare the time,
Out of the chaotic humdrum of one's life,

To push the clutter and monotone aside
And welcome alien ideas into one's mind,

Ideas not shaped into melodious tunes,
Ideas not shaded with colours and hues,

Ideas not in a photographic frame enclosed,
Ideas not structured into the flow of prose,

Free-gushing, mischievous, some rhyming some not!
Poetic ideas are a difficult lot,

Which is why I wonder, astonished, each time
Someone sits down to explore a creation of mine,

What power was greater than all worldly realities,
That led them to my humble poetry?

Was it a soul parched of light?
Was it a heart in the throes of an endless night?

Was it the thrill of love, was it the urgency of desire?
Was it pure craving for emotion, the warmth of fire?

No greater an honour could there be,
Than having someone step into your dream,

Allowing themselves to take the expedition,
Into the unknown depths of your composition,

And have your poem satiate their being,
Just as its birth had healed your own entity.

Vermilion spread across
her forehead, like clouds
over the dusky sky,
Love perspired,
and frantically rained,
Her Earth quietly sighed.

Suspended in his animation,
Between just tangible vapour
And barely there air,
I can touch him and I can't,
Yet I know he's there

It was meant to be-
I was meant to be yours
Pride was never going to be our ally,
For we would thirst for each
other sans all ego,
You- like the barren earth,
Me- like the desperate raindrop,
One, in dire need of a quencher,
The other, homeless, searching for shelter,
We were meant to pine for unison,
We were meant to wander
without lover to hold our hand
so together we could get lost,
and find ourselves.
It was meant to be-
Me needing you,
You needing me,
To live, to breathe, to matter,
to *be

I'm penning a poem and letting it
Shoot towards the night sky,
And hang on to those little celestial
hooks that adorn the universe,
to fit itself amongst the million other shiny ones,
that gracefully illuminate our world.

Sending a glittery part of your heart
so far away, I won't lie, is hard,
yet the Gift to create as I write,
comes with its own fair price,
So I rub my palms together and
open them to find,
Magic with a shimmer so dazzling,
it needs a place in the Divine.

And off it goes! Launching from my fingertips,
Propelled by a charm I utter from my lips,
To snuggle into the welcoming realm
Of the mighty Heavens, my poem smiles
down on the Earth, twinkling with rhyme,

It sends across love to the broken hearts,
Radiates warmth to the shivering soul,
Wraps a comforting arm around the loner,
Soothes the ones wrought in sorrow,

For whoever looks above with despair in the eyes,
Finds that there's hope glimmering there up high,
and the stars of the verses created by You and I,
unhook themselves dutifully from their perch and fly
Down to the reader and calm their sighs,
Which is why,
Which is why,
The poet gladly diminishes his own light,
So his words keep alive, the benevolent night sky.