It's not much of the
missed calls and unanswered messages.

It's just that at 7am,
when the birds sung,
it was almost as if they were mimicking your voice.

At 3pm,
I was searching for your face
in the oceans of people.

And finally at 2am,
instead of drifting to sleep,
my mind drifts back to you.

Then I thought,
missing you is the most divine way of obliteration.

They were masked
with obedience of terrorism on their lips
shoot people mercilessly
played with their souls
in their eyes, no sign of remorse
that dreaded night
when Mumbai cried rivers of blood
death toll increasing with the politicians giving zero *****
ten men killed approx 164
so many injured
so many scarred
lest we forget them from our hearts
martyrs left a legacy
they were many other than Salaskar, Kamte and Unnikrishnan
They played with blood in
Taj, Oberoi, Cama Hospital, Nariman House, CST and Leopold Café
their minds were moulded to be like this.
the innocent tried to hide in hotel lobbies
she watched her husband die
and then she died a silent death
they shot her unborn child
they ignored the infant's cry
they killed humanity
they came with guns
tied their hostages to a pole
and had fun.
The bomb exploded
shattering all their body parts
nothing but chunks of human flesh here and there
the innocent hid themselves in a room
took up the phone and fumbled words
they found the innocent
and...nothing.
the phone line went dead
6 years later,
we still can't forget

people won't remember
your pretty face
nor your pretty clothes
and the money you had.
they will remember
the melody in your laugh
and the way you loved
and the beauty of your heart
and the bravery of your spirit
and the kindness of your soul.
they won't remember what
you looked like
they won't remember what
you had.
they will remember you
and the words you told them
and the life you spoke to them
and the water you used
to bring to life the dead garden
in their souls
and they will remember the
sunshine in your smile
and the stars that
hid in your eyes.

Sometimes the best advice
is hypocritical

Because the best of us
wish we were better
than what we are

You're scared to put yourself
Out there now
You don't open up to anyone anymore
You don't let alot of people in like you used to
You've changed
You're more guarded
Your mindset is different now
You're not the same person you were before,
Just because of one person

someone asked me today what it's like to be a writer and i can tell you this,
my mind exploded into galaxies and i wondered if they could see the twinkling stars in my eyes.
first, i looked into their eyes and saw a black hole, complete and total darkness. so i answered simple to start out with
"it is often quite hard. but for me, it's a way of life."
they didn't quite get it i could see, and asked another question
"oh, is it hard because you get writer's block sometimes?"
i almost let the meteors fly out of my mouth so they would be hit and crushed with the raw fact that being a writer is much, much more complicated than that.
"well yes, that can happen. and when it does it is a crippling feeling. but, it is much more complicated than that. you see, us writers, we not only feel things, but we absorb things. we let things take us over, and once this happens, our hands start to produce words onto paper that come deep within our soul, heart, and mind."
they looked puzzled, but when i looked into their eyes i could see a faint star that was starting to shine. i smiled at this.
"like... what kinds of things?" they asked,
"oh my, it can be something as complicated as love, life, the universe, darkness, pain. but on the other hand, it can be something as simple as leaves on the trees, the ocean, an apple that you just ate for lunch. and sometimes, it is putting those two things together to create something wonderful." i said as the comets were shooting through my fingertips.
i looked again into their eyes, and i began to see a cluster of stars, and that's when i knew i had them.

I'll climb a thousand hills,
stumble on every rock,
fall on my knees and,
fight myself to stand back up,
again.

I'll hitch a flight,
on your dust,
across the milky way,
and wonder if,
you even know,
I'm heading in your direction,
Despite your solar wind.

You'll turn back and say no,
No, no, no, no,
So many times.
And I won't hate you for any of them.
I'll just shake my head and smile.
I'll follow your presence,
till the ends of time,
I won't hide myself,
Alone, anymore.

I'm nothing, nothing,
All humans are just,
Nothing.
Nothing.
But for you I'll be something.
I'll be myself and I'll find,
The place I belong,
At your side.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard
I wasn’t supposed to call out for your arms in the night
And my lips weren’t supposed to search for yours
As if they would actually be there.
I wasn’t supposed to nuzzle into my pillow at night
pretending that your hands were nestled in my hair
I wasn’t supposed to make small talk
just so I could hypnotize myself with that something in your eyes
I wasn’t supposed to wake up cold in the gray morning
with the strong urge to be bruised and bitten
In fits of slow, languid passion.

Unreal how our bodies match and move together,
Uncanny how our minds meld and play in synch.
My youthful love for life,
Your chuckling maturity, still unsure what life is.

Now I play soft ballads full of aching, yearning,
I can wrap myself in a blanket on the floor
With a mug of tea, and think silently on you
And the shadows I wish I could conjure into existence…
They live inside, dancing to burst free from our guilty bodies
Too ethereal, too beautiful, to be abandoned
When we (artists) know we live for such wonders.

I wish I had any other option but forgetting,
or descending into madness.
(I’m currently choosing madness..?)

And it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard.
I’m so sorry,
My summer love.