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Malika Amatya Jul 2015
You tell me that I am ugly,
I will not agree,Cause i can be as pretty as i want.
When people are around me.
You say I am Beautiful,
I shall still not agree,
As I have seen the ugliest of me.
When I was left lonely!
Malika Amatya Jun 2015
What is so nice about the dusk?
Am I happy for end of the day,
Or for darkness to come?
I don't know,
What am i moving towards,
And what am i running from?

This light in between the sun and the stars,
With no brightness,
In the blurred view of it
I can see all the mess.
Then, What is beautiful about the dusk?

I don't feel as cold in the morning,
Nor do i have warmth of the night.
I keep looking at the lane,But everything is out of my sight.
My heart is empty,with my feelings on ground.
Am i searching for something,that shall never be found?
So, what is okay about this dusk?

It reminds me of something,
I don't know if its your arms around or,
your words against me.
It reminds me of everything.
Everything terrible.everything lovely.
And it leaves me so lonely,
I feel abandoned by the you and by the me.
So, what is so beautiful about this dusk?

My heart floods with blames,hatred love and pain
But my eyes don't shed a tear.
This dusk is hollow
and emptiness is the cure,
It confuses
and leaves.
So tell me, what is yet so beautiful about the dusk?
I'm stuck with writing poems just to forget what we really were about
Words are bringing me so deeply insane
And I don't think I could look myself again.

So I write this poem to you for the last time
I don't think any words to rhyme
Cause my heart sinks into
Thinking the day spend without you.
Malika Amatya Jun 2015
She was just walking by,
Walking by the street, At night.
With her messy hair, Smudged eye,
Unbalanced walk, And blurred sight.

Not romantically,
But she'd have fallen on her face.
If he was not walking on the same lane.
This story would have been the same,
If in her eyes, He wouldn't have seen the pride in pain.

Few nights went by,
Him thinking of her blackened eyes.
And she?
She happy in her world of pride and lies.
He waiting for her on the same way.
And she?
Shen shivering somewhere on the month of may.

Months later,
On a cold night, On the same street.
She came swaggering, Firm on her feet.
He stopped and told her,"Hey you look pretty and better."
She after a sly smile, Replied,
She was high on *******
The last time he met her.

She asked "Would you mind joining me?"
Joining me for a walk.
He was already halfway,
Before he would have asked "What?'

She kept talking, laughing and talking.
And he kept asking, listening and asking.
On the way, They departed,
She turned around smiled and left.
He smiled back, Walked away,
Layed on his bed and felt.
Felt the truth in her lies,
And the heaviness in her smiles.
When she told him about her *******,
He thought of those shining eyes.

He smiled and remembered,
How he thought she was insane,
Crazy about her human *******.
How he asked if he could help,
And how with rudeness she replied,
I need HIM more than myself.

After that night,
He could not take her off his mind,
Her eyes, Her walk and her laughs.
Where as,
She tried to recall his name,
That as always she forgot to ask.

He often went back to that street,
In a hope to see her and ask.
If they could be friends,
And walk together through the dark.
If he could just be with her,
Without any demand and question mark.

She never went back to the lane,
As if she knew he would be waiting.
She never tried remembering his name,
She rather kept drinking, smoking and writing.

Going sane and insane,
In Love and hate with her *******.
Her human *******.
Malika Amatya Jun 2015
As an unfinished story,
Or a painting with no colour.
As the mystery of a mystery,
Or the whole puzzle.
Like the warm morning sunlight,
On your face.
Or the heart chilling cold,
And the heavy rain.
As a silence unheard,
Or the words unsaid.
May be a forgotten love story,
Or as an endured pain.

I want to be remembered ;
Like someone you almost had,
But lost somehow over again.
All i want is to be remembered,
Every now and then.
Always like a beginning,
Which never had an end.
Malika Amatya Jun 2015
"I went through my old notebook
One after other,the pages were a surprise.
There were cross marks all over
As if the words were,all lies.

I smiled over every crosses
But then my heart felt sad.
Because I could not remember,
What did i want to write,So bad?

Just like my unfinished poems,
Are some unread books.
Few unsaid words,And the final looks.
The tears unrubbed,
And smiles unlaughed,
Few hugs unembraced
And memories uncarved.

There is a pain,And lies a pleasure
In some unquestioned questions,
And those unanswered answers.

In something that stays,But is gone.
In poems like this,Which is never a complete one.

— The End —