Hustling winds,
through the silent streets.
A dying flower,
with a hope to live.
Thunderclouds,
in search of solace.
A blank paper,
awaits to be written on.
Somewhere amidst this chaos,
we met.
We met,
for the wind,
to break the silence,
for the flower,
preserved forever,
between the pages of our story,
for clouds,
to let it rain,
for paper,
decorated in smell of love.
We met,
like the limitless sky meets the land,
with memories sealed in clouds,
sailing across the silent blue ocean.
We met,
like the drifting river meets the sea,
mixing into each other,
making it one water altogether.
We met,
like the first drop of blissful rain meets the thirsty earth,
losing his existence,
to nurture her.
We met.

My perfect midnight summer ocean,
is how I'd describe you.
Sometimes stormy,
Sometimes windy,
Calm most of the times,
and never ending layers of love for me.
I can sink in deep, deep in these layers,
and yet won't touch the ground.
oh, look here! What I found?
I found my life in you,
With endless pearls to treasure around.

What cannot be yours,
no further shall be desired of.

Sunk into shallow waters,
gone up in smoke,
narrowly ablaze.

Torn to pieces,
unabashedly re-framed.
No matter what you desire of,
at the end must be yours and reclaimed.

Sat in my old creaky chair,
struggling to reach the window to the center right,
a solid transparent glass unlatched,
which choked the life out of me.
A red vibrant sky,
smudged with desire and disgust.
A fairly fast flowing surface wind,
gushing into my face,
whispering in my ears,
the songs and spells of emancipation,
teaching my untamed hair,
the moves of joy.

Certain things are bound to happen in life,
Whether you like them or not.
Eventually, you don't accept them,
But just get used to them.

Slow down, take a minute, a moment, or a day.
Ask yourself, are you happy enough? are you enjoying it enough?
There will come a voice from within, you will have your answers.
It isn't about who's doing it first or better or both.
It is about, are you following up closely with your journey?
How is it gonna matter anyway if it went too fast?
You were busy being too perfect and lost the touch with purpose.
Sit, breathe and live, let humans be humans.
Machines are many to work mindlessly.
Embrace what comes and what does not.
You will live, anyways, but are you living a life worth living?
So, slow down, take a minute, a moment, or a day.
And ask yourself again.

With the vacuum in my stomach,
I can feel the rush of pain.
With the tears oozing out,
I succumb to despair.
With all the world against me,
I am still trying to stand straight.
With the future that only holds uncertainty,
I wish to live just few more days.
With too much chaos at once,
I was born at the wrong place.

Some days I want to paint,
some times I want to be painted.

Some days I want to write,
some times I want to be written.

Some days I want to read,
some times I want to be read.

Some days I want to be a gardener,
some times I want to be the flower of that garden.

Some days I want to live,
some times I want to breathe in peace.

When the doors of heaven were open wide,
the divine rays of god restored the dawn.
The holy waters were then sprinkled,
and the soul of earth was baptized.
The chromatic aisle was then instilled,
washing off the somber hue.
The odor of sanctity was then diffused,
the state of misery was blown away.
The sicks and the spirits were then anointed,
and all the sufferings were healed,
and sins of humans were redeemed.

I have seen you tracing all the curves,
scratching down from A to Z.

Some versions of yours were blue,
stolen some from the sky's hue.

Those letters red in rage,
all the emotions that were being caged.

Black was the darkest of all,
revealing secrets that were never known.

The ones in aberrant green,
expressed the fervor on the page like a screen.

But then as I started to evince,
you ran dry without no hints.