The fragrance of rose,
                    faded away .
            The smell of drugs, fills in,
                     my room.
        They wonder what must be wrong ,
                And so, isolated me!
                      ~ Maeiby

They are all mine,
But some pieces of memory.
My heartbeats are,
But a little remembrance of theirs.
All I caged into one.
One small photograph.
For a photograph is said,
To capture time within it.
All our smiles, odd colourful costumes,
Slightly younger faces than now,
And the pride of us,
All standing together,
All caged!
Days went by soon, one after the other,
The faded calendar says so.
But the photograph on my desk witnessed all.
Like I untied myself from the cage,
From all bounds,
It too started the same.
Same like me, the small efforts went unseen.
And one morning I woke up,
To find it broken.
The glass broken, had patterns too and sharp edges.
All broken still collected as one,
It still had my emotions intact.
The photograph still couldn't come out,
Out of the broken,
Like I still couldn't fly.
Something still pulled me back, doesn't it?
But why did it all happen?
For a dream, which I have believed to be vague.
Of I killing my beloved one.
That I fired two bullets in his chest,
Tearing it apart and bleeding to death.
And then I cried,
Of the thought of right doing and wrong doing.
But, I desperately wanted to heal him,
Back to life.
Back with me.
May be, somewhere out of the wild,
For breaking my caged memory, my treasures,
I had nothing to lose
But to **** you.

Is it possible?
Shall I ask myself..
I think and believe my insane so called existing mind wouldn't be able to answer.
But I've went through the same, well possibly a numerous times.
Every dawn, I believe makes me ready for another fight.
Believe me, its hard, so hard, hardly can I give it the form of any word.
Many has known, but none has felt, me I guess.
Why should they, even?
They're not the ones I've lived for, or died each day?
I know, I have sailed through the same, many a times,
Now even the count breaks in between..
I have sailed through, amidst my own willingness and unwillingness waves..
Believe me, many a times, the waves were too ferocious.
How mercilessly, it engulfed me in, and just threw me ashore..
Who would know, my same old fears?
Who would know my long lost love tales and the broken soul diaries?
Probably none.
And, what about the pain, strangely not mine, given by some other, residing in my heart, and thirsty of my blood?
So, how do I speak?
Words crumbles up, it struggles its way out.
But I've strived.
How do I, make myself believe?
The saviour I made you, in my eyes, my hero.
Is the one, to make my soul die.
More and more each day.
Where shall it end?

We all are the same,
Some say its half filled,
The rest, half empty.
And, how different it is to living?
A little less life,
And a little more pain.
I'm of, but less love inside
And a lot shattered.
Into a thousand small pieces,
Collecting every bit and every piece,
I thought of joining the line connecting the dots,
In the air.
As I remember doing it, as a kid.
But hard it is,
You see, one piece collected and wrapped in my arms,
The other falls down.
And on and on it goes.
Hush.. Tired! (But, of life)
Do you remember my friend,
Too less accepted and,
Too often ignored.
So less are the smiles, more are the cries.
Life, it is, my friend.
The less we found,
The more we lost.
Life, it is my friend,
Life, it is..!

I'm, but a bottle of vintage wine.
Preserved for long,
For an occasion, so perfect.
Over time, it has been,
The star of the wardrobe.
He kept it with pride.
And finally, the day came, so awaited.
And stood there, that wine glass so beautifully with grace.
As it, would hold the precious of all, in it.
Like a lady in grace,
And her curves so pristine,
Beauty that falls so spontaneously.
Lady, you fail to know.
They stare at you, those men,
They dream of you, from far.
And their greedy souls, How they long for you.
Can't you see?
And, a moment of pause.
Then he pours, the wine.

And that moment changed it all.

Down it fell,
Into the white marbled floor.
Breaking into countless pieces,
Of fine glass crystals, sharp enough.
To cut through,
All in its way.
But, more sharp it was in his heart,
And soul.
The wine, red, stained the floor.
Ah, that remains.
How, it shattered,
And what it was preserved for.
That, it cannot be, recollected.
It gave him, a pain,
Making a mark( too deep).
And it was true,
That he never bought one, again.
He feared, it'll fall down again.
How he couldn't hold one in his hands, anymore.

I'm, but that glass of wine,
Broken.
All into many pieces.