"When does a person die" a person asked another,
"When they stop breathing of course" added the other.
But I knew better.

You don't die when you stop breathing or break the "physical tether"- as it were.
No.
You die when you're no longer able to cope,
utterly, utterly lost - in the absence of hope.

The number of trees in the world equal the number of rivers,
as one cannot live without the other without dying in a quiver.

The number of stars in the sky equal the number of gazers,
as the beauty of the them lies in the eyes of their admirers.

The number of creators equal the number of oppressors,
you see - every man has predecessors.

You see, the point I'm trying to make,
is that equality lies all around us in - in nature, in life.
Years ago when some tried to Mother's importance take,
they destroyed the balance of our future, leaving the ****** prints of oppression and inequality in their wake.

Open your eyes and look around,
in every place, there is the presence of patriarchy and absence of equality clearly found.

Stop this, you must,
If you cannot, carry your shoulders to someone you trust.

I guess I was a bit different,
lost in the realm of books and words.
Everyone else was flowing on a different current
while I was swept away by tales of brave heroes and mystical new worlds.

But, lately - in both senses of the word - I realized that,
I'm not different after all - never was at any stage.
I do belong. Belong, to the encompassing and motherly embrace of the solace i receive, when I put pen to paper and pour my heart out on to the page.

Your one smile drives my worries away,
a constant companion when I was little, I miss you every day.

Your voice - kind and soothing, - flows like a river of gold,
and hearing you sing never gets old!

I don't know if I've ever told you how much you mean to me,
how, even the mere thought of seeing you fills me with glee.

This, is an accolade,
an accolade to the best sister the universe has ever made.

Writing on paper is easy - fast and visible.
But paper tears, paper is thrown away.

Writing on the soil is easy - fast and visible.
But it can be erased, by a simple flick of the wrist.

Writing on water is hard, invisible and impossible.
Or so it seems.
To write on water, you must submerge something into it. A couple pebbles or sticks will be fit.

Live your life to the depths, never let it to brought down to be torn or erased. Submerge yourself in it, and it will always bring you to the top,

It was, after all, a book
but it had kept me on an unyielding hook.

Perhaps that is why, when you died Livvy,
I found myself crying out, my heart aching and hoping that you will be happy.

I'm seeing a lot of poems,
about poets, their love and immortality.

I've also seen a lot poems,
about poets, their anger and immortality.

I'm yet to see a poem by a poet,
devoid of love, anger, heartbreak or jealousy.

Because, hey, we are after all people,
people, who feel love, anger, heartbreak and jealousy.

So bear with us for a while,
before you decide if your presence in my poem makes you laugh, cry, fume or smile...

"Hey" he said,
"Hey Back" I said.
Then the alarm rang,
And the door to the dream shut with a bang.

Unseen, unheard, invisible.
Sad, alone, miserable.
Too late I have realised - these are just words.
It is time I break my bounds,
step into shoes that fit,
Thank you to those my world who have lit.
No more scared or scarred,
ready for a new dawn, my positivity unbarred.

We all have secret codes,
a double tap or double ring,
to gets our heads turning and eyes frantically searching.
Double taps are my favourite,
what's yours?

A cat has nine lives is something we all know,
but the number of lives a reader lives increases each time they curl up with a book and a cappuccino.

From containing the recipe to feeding your stomach with drink or grain
to containing wonders to feed your brain,
to telling you how to drive a train,
or teaching you how to avoid strain,
a book is a well of knowledge which from many things you gain.

So the next time you dream of having the wonders of the world unfurled,
you can do do it with your eyes wide open, sitting on your armchair - with a book in hand - legs curled.

As the sun rises up behind the mountains,
touching the flowers and raising their sleepy heads,
I tilt my face towards its warmth, storing it for the day ahead.

As the sun goes back down,
the flowers bow their heads again, dull petals shielding the core,
I sit as I sat before,
and say goodbye till another day as the moon comes out,
leaving a yearning for more.

My whole life, "Aim for the stars" was what they all said.
Every other dream I had, I was told to "block it".
But when I turned around, I found that no one was ready to give away their space rocket,
so please do tell, on what path should I now tread?

Taking advantage of one who is silent,
is like fighting a weaponless soldier, who is in other fields most salient.

Some may see it as 'fun',
or getting the job done,
but ultimately - just lose their self-respect in return.

So the next time your ego needs fueling,
be careful, because when angered, it's the mind not the heart that's ruling.

I always felt that I belonged in the motherly embrace of words,
twisting and toying with them, until a poem forms - of sorts.

But today. Today I felt a certain sense of fear.
If I'm no longer recognised for my skill with words - my identity which I worked so hard to build,
it will be more than I can bear.
Because it's the only thing keeping me from vanishing into thin air....

We all know of wind, earth, water and fire,
but there is an other.

Love.

It courses in our veins through the air we breathe,
singing its tune of magic, filling us with peace.

It rages a fire in our heart,
conjuring a deepening longing, everlasting courage -  and a will to never part.

At times it falls from the sky through rain,
creating a magic shield to enclose us in.
While at times it scatters from the eyes,
binding a promise to meet again after the goodbyes.

When we are all but dust in the earth,
we are reunited by the hope of meeting again.
Hope, in love, should never be in dearth.

It is a fortunate few that find their way in,
and it is only a fortunate few that can keep it within.

She opened her eyes, shielding them from the sun.
The excited chirping of robins and the cool caress of the early morning breeze woke her up, signalling the day has begun.

The green carpet of the fields lay before her, the flowers of summer boasting their bold colours as they reached up to meet the sun.

She rose. A little too quickly. The world spun around her.
The kaleidoscopic swirling settled, but her sight was still a blur.

She reached out to the world but it pushed her back,
the cage she was in showing no slack.

Her face - flooded with tears - extinguished the fire in her eyes,
as she sat back down in her cage of fears.

The sky seemed a luxury, not a limit,
for she had wings, but no clear vision of the summit.

I'm surprised at the way,
that people can drink bitter coffee,
to nourish their body,
but can't swallow a bitter truth,
and nourish their soul.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Just loved seeing,
your smile so true!

Am I really happy, independent and free,
If I'm constantly living in a world of, "maybe?"

Before, each time you looked at me, your face lit up with a smile.
Now, you can't seem to talk to me without breaking into a frown after a little while.

Before, you were ready to put the world at my feet to see me happy.
Now, the same you, keeps hurting my world again and again and you don't even realise that we're unhappy.

Before, we never ran out of things to talk about.
Now, it seems the only conversations that you like are the ones where we're silent and you shout.

Before, I used to think the world of you.
Now, the things I admire about you are so few.

After, when you realise my plight and want to your old self restore,
just cast your thoughts back to how you were before.

It was suffocating in the room,
filled with people, yet still making me feel lonely and subdued with gloom.

Then, suddenly, I felt a breath of fresh air,
when I looked up, you were standing there...

Everything I feel proud of possessing :
my openness,
my honesty,
my discipline,
my kindness and
my skill with words - delving deep into them to find the solace I need - only seems to be improving with age.

The one thing that I deeply want and need, however, seems to be decreasing as each second ticks by - a little bit of courage.

How long does it take for a heart to heal,
when it gets broken by childhood tantrums?
Probably, a minute or two, depending on how you feel.

How long does it take for a heart to heal,
when it gets broken on your first day of school?
Probably, an hour or two, depending on how you feel.

How long does it take for a heart to heal,
when it gets broken by a passing fiend?
Probably, a day or two, depending on how you feel.

How long does it take for a heart to heal,
when it gets dismantled by the person who started its beating in the first place?
Probably, never.

The morning's gone - it's night again,
But, what is a few more hours to see the light,
When, lying here among the tubes, the machines, the needles... I've spent most of my life.

A split second is all it takes,
to end life and its happiness -
however much it makes.

Be careful on the road,
for every road does not take you to your destination.

Speed is an enemy,
as much as it is a friend.
At times an angel,
at times a fiend.

Make sure you don't fall off the track earlier than you have too.

Ensure your life flashes with happiness - not in a split second before your eyes.

Sweet, funny, loving, caring, patient, an epitome of motherly magnificence.
The English language may eventually run short of adjectives to describe you,
but i'm not worried - after all, what use are words when you can make out my thoughts - even from my deepest silence...

You don't stay out in the sun to cure sun burn,
You don't blast loud music to clear a head ache,
When you're ill, you don't eat anything out of turn.
And no, when you're sleepy, coffee is not what you take!

You know what to avoid when you're body's ill,
but then when it comes to matters of "heart",  your resistance is nil.
Why stay and give someone's undeserved power, a regular fill?

Always, always smile at the quiet person
standing at the back of the room.
That one smile won't be wasted -
they'll cherish it, cherish the idea that they're not invisible and not alone in their gloom...

There was once a little bird,
who built a cage around herself,
hoping to keep safe from the cruelty brewing outside.
Little did she know, however, that what keeps things out
also keeps things in.

Then one day,
she died.

Suffocated. By all the doubts and worries which were circling in the cage,
her story ended, before it had even reached the last page.

You sit on top of the empty fireplace,
an old smile lighting up your face.
I remember the day we took that picture,
We were at the beach as the sun was shining – smiling together and at each other.
You sit on top of the window seat,
Reading a book and putting up your feet.
I remember how we fought over who got to sit,
And then the attempts to see if we would both fit!
You are in the kitchen cooking up a mess,
Getting confused between mint and cress.
I remember eating your concoctions,
Hiding my disgust and trying not to laugh – then again, what were my options?
You stand in front of the mirror,
Smoothing your hair for the hundredth time – you never tire.
I remember how your hair fell across your face in the wind,
And as I smoothed it away from your face, our eyes each other would find.
I see you standing, sitting and laughing everywhere,
I blink my eyes and I see you nowhere.
That’s when I worry if you really existed, I remember everything – but with a fear,
Have you forgotten this “unbreakable” pair?

I never really understood,
why a laugh is adored by poets - painted as tinkling, lingering, alluring and much more.
Hope the day is near when I see somebody laughing and think, "that's the one" , "that's the laugh I adore..."

I can spend my days laughing and living - distracted by life's demands.

I can spend my evenings gazing into the flickering candles, letting pen touch paper and transporting myself to far away lands.

But night. Night comes uninvited, an intruder which forces me to think and drapes me with a blanket of loneliness and sadness.

Maybe I can spend my nights, but only when I'm holding your hands.

Every day at twilight,
you arrive at my window, against the harsh winds you fight,
you drop the letter into my hands - making sure I've held it tight.
I do not know if this is childish, wrong or right,
but my jealousy for you has reached a new height.
Don't shoot the messenger they used to site,
but how can I only feel gratitude in return for this rite,
when all I want is to fly like you, underneath as the city glows bright,
fly till I reach where everyday you come from in the night,
and instead of you, it is me that he holds tight.

It was here a while ago,
beating in my chest and making me glow
so then, where did it go?

I looked everywhere I could possibly think of,
under the flowerpot, in the cupboards and even behind my Mona Lisa (oh what a beautiful laugh!).

But I guess that's what happens when charming dreams you weave
and wear your heart upon your sleeve.

Every day we utter an array of words,
"Thank you", "Sorry", "You're Welcome" or "Be careful"
But how many of these words do we actually mean
in the way that people understand them?

"Thank you" for a thousand things.
"You're welcome" for a million things.
"Sorry" for a trillion things.
"Be careful" of everything.

The next time we utter these words to somebody,
let's specify what we mean and specially specify our love in them,
because this is what they have left,
when death knocks on our doors and gets away with theft.

I wake up, surrounded by people.
I get through my day, surrounded by people.
I come back, yet again, surrounded by people.
I go to sleep - thinking about everyone and everything.
I wake up, surrounded by people.

One. Two. Three or Four.
One hundred, two hundred or more.
Alone. Can't separate this word from me anymore.
Surrounded by so many,
Yet, every minute, every second, I'm alone.
Do you know why?
Oddly, sadly, neither do I.

I'm stuck in this box where no one can hear me beg, scream or shout,
please, please can someone let me out?

I set off at the base of the mountain.
Knowing, that it would be no easy feat - not with all this gear on my shoulders to mount in.

But as I continued my climb, something strange began to occur.
The peak which was so clear a moment ago, now began to blur.

I halted. And I lost track.
Oh how I wish - standing alone and stranded on this mountain - that there was someone to bring me back.

I don't know what miracles you have spun,
but my heart again you have won.

You've granted a wish today, and you have come none too soon,
Thank you so much to the brightest in the sky - o beautiful full moon!

I'm getting tired of guessing who you may be,
craning my neck in every crowd, hoping it is you that I see,
so could you do me a favour - as soon as I count one, two, three,
come out of my dreams and into my view, when you're free?

We sat there facing each other,
as the sun rays fell across the room in slits through the blinds.     
We were connected by a mysterious tether,
a smile playing on our lips and tranquility tresspassing in our minds.

Too shy to speak and too afraid to break the melodious silence,
we sat there, wringing our hands and stealing the odd glance.
Then, an idea shined together on both of us and broke the trance.

We picked up our pens and began to write,
Cause that was the only way we knew,
to open up and 'bare our soul' - so to cite...

The poem, the poet and the reader,
The pen, the hand and the heart
You look for hidden meanings in between the lines,
Or try to look for the message I’m trying to impart.
But, let me tell you a little secret
You won’t find it in the way I
drop my line, or use my commas and full stops.
Nor will you find it by poring over the a’s and the b’s
The long stanzas or groups of threes.
No. If you want to know what guides my pen across the page,
put yours down and let your heart out of your cage.

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going" they said.
Well that's not true, cause some left even before the going got tough, and took a different path from the thorn-filled one I limpingly led.

"Never look a gift horse in the mouth" they admonished.
This, was also a false tale. I only realised the mistake,
when I lay on the ground, reeling from its kick, alone and astonished.

Because, you see, as I was trying to explain to 'them' by shouting myself hoarse,
there is such a thing as a Trojan horse.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock
Sometimes too slow, Sometimes too fast
Hold still once in a while
And let us hold onto our smile...

A couplet, an acrostic or a sonnet,
golden words we treasure in our hearts or in a golden locket.

Filled with praises of beauty, brain - or sometimes both,
they get hearts racing and make separation a thing to loathe.

So then, what is it about you,
that even one simple glance or word, makes my heart quicken and renders me speechless... What is this mystery, if you know the answer, can you tell me too?

When you saw the title, what did you think of,
standing under a star filled sky, being whispered the three magical words of love?

It's a natural reaction after all,
but my three words were different - out of the ordinary you may call.

You see, as an amateur writer and poet, I'm always vexed
about the quality of my poems,stories, and so on - until that is, someone utters the three magical words, "What happens next?"

Does someone exist, in that big and endless universe,
who can complete my incomplete poems - every line, every verse?

They come in all shapes and sizes.
Just an idea or a thought - brought about by experiences or advises.

Some - like me - do not have an endless supply of ideas or a muse.
After all, we don't all have someone to look in the eye, glance into their soul and pick out something that into our poem we could infuse.

Hide and go seek
can you at least take a peek?
Make the clouds part
And the darkness depart.

There is a cool breeze;
And everyone’s at ease
just missing someone, to mock and tease.
But you always fill the gap,
Even for someone, on the other side of the map.
Where are you now?

The clouds have disappeared,
But you still haven’t appeared.
The crickets, the wind, the lonely sighs are all calling,
But you, as always, are still stalling.
Where are you now?

A constant companion at night,
Your white glow and soft light,
while riddled with craters and rocks
you help lighten the heart while the clock slowly ticks and tocks.

And, at last, you appear,
welcomed, by the chorus of the wind and lonely eyes brimming with tears,
because finally someone has come, to make a wish upon and to bridge the gap
between someone who is way, way on the other side of the map.