I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

All the women hide in the bushes
Fighting and eating the insects
No
They aren’t hungry, but tired.

Every time, they hear the sound of the moving bushes
They look with the hopeful eyes
They are waiting for someone to come inside
And take them to the world outside
Or just promise for a future trip.

But the moment they realise
That a woman used scissors to make her way outside
They all pass looks and heavy sighs.

We marry
On the basis of queries
Concerning and confirming
The age difference and dissimilarity
Between the prince charming and his to be fairy
No introductions primarily
The birthmarks entitled as scary
No emotional reciprocity
Only inquiries about the popped cherries
And advices, unchary
By the gooseberries
Hardly any knowledge of monetary
Big mouths begging for a huge dowry
Somehow her decorum works as a parry
This is how we get married.

I asked where do you reside
My anxiety smirked, said
Is there any place better to hide?
Under your skin, I breathe
That aching jaw and tightening chest
Can I have a better place to live?
Amid your bewilderment of heavy breaths
And crazy heartbeats
I reside, I reside and I reside.

I felt defeated at its adamancy
My kindness suggested me to draft
An agreement between me and my anxiety.
The agreement expressed the grounds.
As I picked up the pen, the paper sighed.
Ignoring the thoughtfulness of my inanimate ally
I just continued inking it further.
Did I mention that my anxieties were on the table?
For the agreement can’t be drafted without its terms and conditions.
I proposed to be permitted to come back to the present
And just breath, feel and age.
My anxiety smirked again, it knew
That this was what I found on the internet.
It leaned in and tightened its grip around my skin.
Knowing that it won’t be so easy,
I negotiated, I negotiated and I negotiated