You were like the pieces of
A jigsaw
I claimed you when
I was a toddler
Every evening we stood in
The backyard and hid from the
Pigeons
Every night we laid on the grasses
And counted the stars

My hands are shivering now
And I'm too **** old for any reconciliation
My will has flown
And to this impetuous wind
It surely has blown
You're writing these verses
With your blood stained fingers
I'm trying to forget
Every word I said.

Back in the second grade you
Gave me roses and I thought
We're beginning to collapse
And build this new dome of love
But the meanings and emotions
At this very tender age
Knew no bounds
Crept away
Kept on moving endlessly
Like those horizontal lines you drew
In my notebook
I still have those pages
Buried them with you
Kept them with my soul.

Today when I stand on the bridge
The bridge where your car collapsed
There's an eerie silence
There's a horizontal cross
An immeasurable distance
That can never be crossed.
I watch as every alphabet on that letter
Gravitates towards the floor
And my hands, my blood stained fingers recall that night you were murdered
That's what you told.

Someday the lies we say, consume us.
Someday this demise will become an old tale.
The truth with stay with me
Vertically hitched.

A blank piece of paper
Unscrambled letters
Metaphors flying across the room,
Hypnotised.

A bucket of white paint
Whitewashed fences
The last knock on the door,
Crestfallen.

Thirty five cygnets
Moving in the same direction
I choke on the sea salt,
Frozen.

A thousand letters from you
Anecdotes and poetry's
Words still won't suffice,
Rusted.

I'm resting beneath an avalanche
With my numb soul burying the cold secrets
The chasms taking in my pain
I'm a poet
I don't wish to be one
I'm resting beneath the avalanche
And my cacology is killing me
These words reaching out to the mountains
Are merely fairytales in this stark reality
I'm resting beneath an avalanche
And I can see the cygnet
With her mother
Moving towards death
And my words cannot help them
My words cannot help my withering self too.

Times change and people change. Nobody stops for anyone. I'm stuck on the crossroads of my destiny hopelessly wandering and probably overthinking because that's what people do at 2 am in the night. When you gaze at the stars and wonder about everything that will make sense in sometime. It's not just insomnia, it's the desire to make most of every second. It was one of those times when I was stargazing while listening to post rock, trying to figure out how these stars don’t fail to captivate one completely
The desire to create and destroy. Intriguing fallacies blindfolding you are now gone.  It's that time of the day, when conversations are subtle and make so much sense that tomorrow when you wake up and join the rat race you'll remember nothing about this. This is why it remains a dream, exactly why I don't like the fact that the civilisation decided to sleep at night. Why not do something better, do something you want to achieve and begin, begin at night. Why these rules and restrictions, these boundaries caving your musings. These walls enclosing your mind. Think of something beyond this. Explore. The universe is ******* rad. Why work during the day when it is all dull and monotonous, when the sun is shining and you're low, engrossed too much into something you don't actually wish for. The light gives you hope? The darkness gives me company, it gives me peace. The constellations are mystifying. I wish to stay up till 4 am and figure out everything I don't know the answers to. I wish to make every moment a success. Ten years later you'll be living a different life, now you're living a different one. Why waste this night? Time doesn't wait for you, you shouldn't wait for it as well. Wake up.

I used to be a writer once
Now I stare at blank pages
Cursing my insanity
Looking for my muse she's lost
Roaming about the streets in mismatched socks.

I used to be a dreamer once
Before the accident turned me blind
Now I see blurred visions
Of the demons in my head
Now I sleep at night, I sleep throughout the year.

I used to be an ailurophile
Before curiosity killed the cat
Trips of imagination were games that we played
Before it crossed the path of a million souls
They stopped, dreaming, talking, living.

I used to be human
Before I lost faith in mankind
I was drunk and so the mishap occurred
I killed my cat
I stopped writing was why I couldn't write.

In the backyard near the mosses, electric blue wrens.
The blackbird singing away.
A myriad of stars in this sky with subtle humour
Tingling away with mischief, Changing hue every now and then.
Sun toughened lovers, Walking hand in hand
Fade away into the darkness
Collapse in the middle of nowhere.
Lost, With their voices echoing
from under cedar covers.
Waves dancing under the crimson sky.
Transformations hiding its alibi
They're floating on the blue vitriol of early February
Northwest autums turns to winter
The snowflakes melt in the presence of the heat.
I'm still finding the chameleon,
And the lovers who disappeared last night.
I'm still lost in the shades of blue
An electric energy reaches out to paradise.
My thoughts circling around, Rings of ancient wisdom.
Motionless, With my feet touching the ocean floor
And my eyes remain beneath the pall.
Watching the vultures , With my fingers numb
And the smile on my face, As steady as the thunder
And rain pouring down
And my heart lost
Lying somewhere, Along with the ashes of the dead bird
Singing away, In a place
Where I'm yet to be born.

Bittersweet headlines
Reaching out to the heavens
While the woman sleeps in the streets,
Everyday I look at her eyes, alight with hunger.

You play your moves ,I play mine
They play their moves.
The bishops don't move , The rooks do not.
The queen and the king lie safe,
Killing people from a distance
Mind politics is enough for demise.

Ideas and theories
Mere fallacies and ideologies
We're still puppets of the almighty
Almighty? The shrewd politicians of course.

So while we laugh at Jew jokes
And people continue to think of some
Let's think for ourselves
And keep away the gun.