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Miss Saitwal Jan 2
Guitar met Sam
Sam met guitar.
Sam is the best thing that has ever happened to it.

Like tunes are inevitable without rhythm
And lyrics without devoid experiences
And them, without inspiration.

They know, no boundaries
They play with the highest & lowest frequencies
They sound just fine without a chord or two.
If you separate them, they’ll sound like a lucid dream.
Keep them together and they’ll find their voice.
Of all the enchanted hearts with no expressible bond.

Clouds like a storm & breeze like a tornado.
They accompany you with a cup of tea on an empty chair
The empty chair with an unwilling pillar to shake.

But, when the sky clears and you feel free,
You may forget their deeds but not feelings.


Incapable of love, but of tenderness.
Mistake the one, & the other shall carry the baggage.
Carry the void of emptiness,
till you play your part in this peculiar life.

Coz what they had was like a one night stand,
Emotionally unavailable,
Juvenile and vulnerable.

Inspiration damaged Sam.
Guitar met Enzo.
Enzo is the best thing that has ever happened to it.

And they lived happily never after.
Miss Saitwal Oct 2018
Spill the sass in your throat,
Sit in that infectious boat,
and swallow the fire like a Mod 90's Caeser.

Pull that rope of impossibilities,
and swing to the door of happiness,
like the enchanting fireworks in Brisbane.

Climb the ladder of odds,
and kiss the pole of awkwardness,
like Beyonce dropping jaws with her moves.

Misread, mistaken, misled by faith,
and drinking a glass full of honesty,
like you own your mistakes & fantasies.

Funny fulfilled fantasies,
and anonymous swallowed fears,
like a diamond over an opaque rock.
Miss Saitwal Aug 2018
Places where we go and free our headspace,
spreading our  hands and feeling the raindrops.

It felt like an unique amalgamation of fright, fury and pure joy.

Fright of all the obligations barged on the soul.
Fright of not being with the right people at the right time.
Fright of falling on our own feet.

Round & round on the playground,
with an overwhelming typsy feeling.

The joy of sliding on the slippery dip,
touching the sky hanging on the swing.
The breeze touching the feet, playing with the hair & ticking the ears, until we fear to fall on the ground.

The alarming feeling of how precious our life is.
The joy of constantly working on ourselves to improve in life.
The joy of keeping ourselves first.
The joy of not missing out & living in the moment;

The joy of emphatic long conversations,
The joy of selfless efforts with no expectations.
The joy of doing the right things,
always at an unsuitable time;
The joy of being intutive over calculative.

The joy of spending fruitful earnings;
& believing in karma.

Feeling no need to explain our way of doing things
& doing what makes us feel good about ourselves.
Absolute joy of not being too ******* ourselves.

All joyful things go wrong, because it is their job to.
We make all dreadful things right, because it is our job to.

It all makes sense now,
We must get up,
spread your hands,
feel the raindrops,
and say,

“We made it all worth.”
Miss Saitwal Jul 2018
That workaholic lady who's always on call
& keep up with the market cells,
That newly married lady with chunky "red bangles"
talking to her husband with both earphones and blush on.

That man with a big fat stomach filled with his wife's love;
That teen who is on the edge of being deaf
because he can't do without the earphones.

That struggler who always stands at the back door;
That dreamer who's lost looking outside the window;
That person who's scared to get lost so stay active on the maps;
That disturbed mind who is coping up listening to George Michael;
That overworked soul who can crash anywhere.

That lady who choose to sit and freeze to death under a broken A/C unit, rather than stand with a five kilo backpack in a crowded jungle.
That girl who eats like a thief by hiding her food in the bag;
That tall enthusiastic freak who swings
and does gymnastics in a moving bus.

That granny who spot more trends than teens and follows them;
That old man who still can't keep up with the uneven roads
and the confused climate of Bombay.

That teen who lives with/on an Ipod,
instead of the 90s kids who survived on colouring books;
Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in the still crowd by surpassing like electrons to the magnetic field.

That man who is inspired by Raju Rastogi from 3 Idiots,
chanting to death and can't stop stressing on his responsibilities;
That entrepreneur with a head held high and red lipstick,
who never believes in a 9 to 5 corporate "mistake",

That blogger who can't think offline and is born to shine on the Gram,
That man who switches from Linkedln to South Indian action movie when the masses exit.
Miss Saitwal Jun 2018
They bruise their pupils with the sharp roses.
They built an empire with fur and sequins.
And lived with poise and jealousy.
Burnt and alive, torn yet together.
The prudent of all, dangerous of all minds.

Survive, said the father
Believe, said the Jesus

— The End —