I never think of life
As a wet on dry watercolor painting
Because its more similar
To wet on wet
You put a dash of color
Joy
Emotion
And it spreads
Like a virus
But a good one
Life isnt realism.
Life is abstract.
So treat it like that.
Imperfect
But in the end?
Beautiful.

I have the shaky hands
Of a surgeon who is
Too stubborn to retire,
Continuing to work
Even as his patient
Dies on the table.

You are the creation of my hell-pain,
and I must confess that I have painted this pain
with so much care and love,
bit by bit, bit by bit—
like the way dead leaves hide the earth,
hiding so silently, like an owl were spreading her wings
into the dark, which is still unknown to me.

And I do believe that sailing was in the Creator’s thought.
So, I have not been looking for the reason ever since.
And on that imperative lone voyage of mine,
I sailed my soul towards a directionless world,
where the word 'you' does not make any sense.

Now, standing on the verge of that meaninglessness,
I let everything go—truly, everything.

one more Winter-
white crisp fallen temperature

a nudge from star-shine
dimmed Sunshade

cold black empty space
reaching in with spindly fingers

the spin away leaving breath
condensing into water.

notches are useful
but only so far

to be freed from the spell
is freedom indeed

today is all you have
the moment more than anything else

that deep cleansing breath
created just for you

for you to share life
-your own unique way.

To fall in love— is it right or wrong?
When it compels me to feel so young.

Memories of love aren’t light to bear,
They often make me laugh and tear!

I held someone’s hand to walk so long,
She pushed me away and left me alone!

I cannot forget her company and care;
I long for the days we once did share!