Six minutes past Twelve
It was the fourth time

She opened her window 

And waited for 

The Bulgars to enter her place

She had this queer desire 

Of being annihilated 

And those rustic apparels

Were of no use 

The world had gone ahead

She lost pace 

She couldn’t possibly
cover up 
In those two minutes 

Of disgrace.

A kaleidoscope
lying beneath
the silver linings
Of my confessions
And I
Seem to reflect
At all the lies
And truths
Inadvertently
Also, Simultaneously
Destroying the aura of
It's beauty and charm
Unknowingly
Creating a void
Unconsciously letting it out.

Lately I’ve been In search of an answer,
Digging deep into metaphysics .
To find that time isn’t real Only clocks exist.
The world is fake,
And you are living a lie.
Either way,
Aren’t you supposed to die.

Half awake

She was regretting.

This is a fake world,
that was a better place.

Ironically.

It'd spin round
Full of upside downs
Full of different numbers
She played roulette

But it isn't that easy, always.

There’s so much more 
I could do.

If I could 

Scatter the seconds 

Like the grains of sand.

If the minutes would pass 

Like a ray of light

Passing through a prism

Breaking into 

Those seven colours

Lighting every corner. 

If I could 

Multiply the hours 

With the innumerable 

Thoughts in my mind .

And calculate

To find

I still haven’t got enough

I still need time

I Wished
My thoughts
Lived up with
My words
And my creativity
Ably Portrayed
Itself on
The canvas
And the conversations
Made sense
To those people
Drifting away
But
Nobody knows
what they are
looking for
And right
nothing
makes sense to me
For I don’t know
Which path may lead
To the place I want
To go
Bur most importantly
I dont know
What I want
To see.
what
I want to be.

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.

I cannot see
The bitter truth
Lying beneath the stones I've broken
Carved on those little pieces
Objectifying shattered hopes
Strenuously believe it's going to be alright
And purport to be satiated
I cannot ignore the buzz of the crowd
And let down the expectation
Of people whose brains collapsed
While serving me
I cannot see what lies beneath the oceans
And walk past those innumerable secrets
With my eyes closed
And my ribs holding on to my lungs
And my cigarette stained hands yearning for demise.

And if you see me
Lying on the floor
With blood flowing
Like a turbulent sea of
Tears I cried
All my life
Would you contemplate
The reason
Of my denial
Of this acceptance
Can you bring an end
To this mundane story of mine
By cutting of its wings
And setting it free
Would you read
My poems
After I'm gone
And find the reasons
Of my disapproval
Would you help me
In tying the rope
Around the mistakes
I did not make.

They told me about 

All the impractical things

Which would never possibly happen

But 
Never did I receive a warning 

Regarding the monsters under my bed

My blanket fails to protect me from them now

Is it because I grew up?

I
Wished
My thoughts
Lived up with
My words
And my creativity
Ably Portrayed  
Itself in
The canvas
And the conversations
Made sense
To those people
Drifting away
But
Nobody knows
what they're
looking for
And nothing makes sense
To me
Now
And then.
And maybe
Forever.

And I constantly thought
I was winning.

I won everyday.
It hit me deep in my head ,

when I got to know.

I had been living a lie.
It’s not my fault.

It is,

Stalemate.

How could I understand 

What you were trying to say.

Your words were like,

The Autumn leaves.

Drifting apart.

Unfathomable.

My words which were
Flowing away,

Miles after miles.

Made,

Poetry