There, in the distance,
Grey clouds rolling in like waves,
Blues skies and grey clouds,
Shadows fall on a clear day.

Silent revolt, still and quiet
Grey clouds, a lost world fading away,
Blue skies, grey clouds,
Dreams lost to wayward winds array.

Desolate storm on a summer's eve,
Conspiring against the light of day,
As daisies perch on some false hope
The sun will shine again.

Blue skies and grey clouds
The silence ringing loudest
At street corners, begging gaze
With darkness comes pain.

Eery and queer,
Grey clouds lie in wait,
Blue skies there were,
The last day, the light ever shone again.

The kiss, reminisce to a hot summer afternoon,
The scent of him, hangs like a cloud above my head .
And every breath burns, like a flame set on fire, inside me.
His touch, dissolves, now a part of my very being,
His taste still lingers as this sweet dream of a passionate love affair.
And as the night draws closer, my soul aches for the sound of him,
And with every beat of my heart, his coincides to be of one.
Sweet nothing, as true as the sun that rises in the east.
And into his arms I fall, onto a bed of roses,
Underneath the sheets, skin and skin meet, burning desires,
As the dreamer in me awakes.

As the light touches her skin,
A fire deep within,
Ablaze to set free, your desires.
And in the light of the moon she lies
Ethereal beauty,
The queen,
On *****, she breathes her fire.
Purifying the soul,
Her eyes burn,
Deep within your whole.
The night she claims her own
A magical spell to weaken you.
You, oh Icarus,
Fly too close to the sun.
And in her arms you lie,
Charmed and bewildered,
Wanting for more.

And He saw Her stand there,
With the wind in Her hair,
And the light dancing in Her eyes.
And He saw She was alone in a world,
That He wanted to be a part of.
And while the wind toyed,
With the strands of Her eloquent brown,
He could feel the world spin,
Much faster than He could bear.
And in it He felt there was life,
A life, He had never known.
Little did He know that He had fallen,
For the girl who used to stand there,
Just to watch Him,
While He made life His own.

Her silent tears wept, in crystals withheld.
She wore her silks and touched up her scars,
With sorrow, she walks out into the sun.
In white, she glistened, but her heart, coal black,
In shimmering dreams she had lost herself,
Lost to a world, worn and surreal.
Her emerald green eyes, crying,
And with each moment her fears, surpass.
To the world she is a flame, burning the eye,
But within, her heart cripples as the flame  burns out.
The clouding eyes of foretold doom,
Written between the lines of her wrinkling life.
Distant calls on sleepless nights,
Escapades from this loveless life.
Shadows lingering, as voices whisper,
Her wings, clipped to the sides.
And in white, she stood there,
Under the sun,
Lifting up her eyes, to the heavens above.
Crystals shed, held captive to her pride.
The day after the storm,
*She finally weeps in front of the Gods.

I wasn’t born to write
With every bent petal,
and every fallen leaf,
my ma’s sweet kisses
And papa’s gentle smile
I learned to write

A five year old me was once fascinated
by the loop of an ‘e’
and the playful swing of an ‘m’,
The wide smile of a ‘d’ delighted me
Words were powerful and mesmerising,
now they lie discarded and ignored
in broken stanzas of self proclaimed irrelevance

I watch the black ugly marks
That taints countless sheets of paper
They surround me in a sea of ink
That once flowed carefully and slowly
A thousand thoughts with each single word
Drained lies my mind, my breath’s not a whisper but a plea
My heart pumps blood not ink, I’m not a poet, it says
Incoherent scribblings mock me with their existence

As a child, confined spaces scared me
But now, a confined mind petrifies me with just a glimpse
A pen stays gripped in my hand
I wonder what it fears more
My inability to let the ink flow coherently
Or my arrogant ramblings, regardless
And fearless of consequences
While I stumble on disjointed verses

A paper aeroplane is my best accomplishment
In my two hour search for freedom and thought
Who cares for pretty words and mystifying couplets?
When the idea of a paper boat seems much more exciting

-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്‌