in a once quiet thought
my lips trembled,
tongue frozen still;

along the lined horizon I glanced,
missing the beauty,
I have seen the emptiness;

silently they whisper,
deception their embedded kiss,
sitting, I waited
while they walked;

bleak winters I have known;

your essence, filled my palms;
spilling onto the canvassing world,
you drew me a picture;

untainted reality,

taught my finger tips to sway,
from left to right,
my curiosity now eclipsed by this,
gift;

showed my hand to paint,
with such precautions,
being g very careful to color
outside the lines of *******,

clothed my nakedness,
the warmth of your radiances,

burned my voice into solid letters,
molding them into words,
you gave them their voice;
like glowing embers;

thank you...

I remember my grandpa
clay of skin penetrating eyes,
bald head,wisdom lines,shrinking deep within.
always jovial and calm,
rarely he smiled,silence ineffable
never did he scold,as i said ,jovial.
I couldn't talk to him an eye to an eye,
seemed like he knew my darkest secrets,
but never did he told me,always trusted me.

I remember my grandpa.
I remember his last days.
always quit,sleeping whole day,
but never did he lost that look of a hawk,
sometimes at night went out for a walk.
Oh! I remember how i used to wait for him
to get back from work and he always came with a smile on his face.

but one day he went away as usual,
caught my ******* to say goodbye,
I don't remember seeing his face,just a touch of hands,
then he went away.
i waited for him,and he came.
not as usual,not on his feet,but in my father's lap,
my father wailing away,i felt a pang of guilt..
i saw his feet ,tout as a stork,
cold as ice.
His whole body
shrivelled like a dry flower in its own shell,
i touched his bald head,as i used to do,
only this time it was cold and he didn't frown,
i bet i saw him smile,as we all cried.

I remember my grandpa.
hawk eyes,clay of skin..
i remember him.

silencio...
surrounded by her surroundings,
a broaden plane covers the
terrain,
beneath her feet;

a soundless voice hovers
over her,
filling the void
within her
chest;

deserted, blistered and chapped;
surfacing,
from her once tender lips
surface,
her essence made manifest;

embodied in colour,
her crimson pedals,
tip over and tobble like drippleting pebbles,
i ever, study and attempt to endeavor,

her infamous mystery,
that melodious...
symphony,

she whispers
a soft cry,

burrowed in silencio,
she vowed never to let it go; her melody,
dispensed quite gently,
floating along
stream,

accidentally,
it broke out of,
her heart beat's sonata

Writing* it is easy,
  Saying it terrifies me,

If anyone but reads it,
Means I'll never have to tell you,
Whats really on my mind,

Because if you dont like
What I have yo say,
All you have to do
Is turn the page,

And I can always pretend,
Its not about you...

If all men want
is an ******,
they'd stay home.
DIY

*** isn't one-dimensional
neither are we.
The goal is
reassurance,

Reassurance we
aren't monsters
That we're interesting
and attractive

That rejection is only
happenstance
and that someone is
willing to be vulnerable

if only for the night
with us.
Someone only
needs us

and we need them.
Possessive and jealous?
To keep what is ours,
our purpose.

Our purpose is
simple.
To be wanted,
to be accepted.