Hey mom-dad, listen.
Hit me, hate me, throw me out,
But don't shut me up.

There's more to suicide than what we think it is.
It's not just unanswered questions,
sometimes, it's unasked ones.

.                               “I
                            lo­ok out
                        side the window
                      and there
                   I see the
                moon, and
            that makes
           me wonder,
            ‘why would
              such a beauty
                   always want
                     to hide a part
                       of herself, why will
                             she want to?’
                                     ”

Have you ever seen a sunflower reaching out to the sun, following him wherever he goes?

Or an evening water lily shying away and blushing under her lovely pink at all times when the sun is in the sky?

Have you ever seen a dandelion break herself into countless little pieces and fly away to places unbeknownst, just to make herself full again?

Have you ever seen a rose, apprehensive of what might destroy him, guarding himself with numerous thorns, yet so beautiful that you can’t help but ignore his thorns?

Have you ever seen daisies growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, reminding you to look for beauty even when you can’t?

Have you ever seen flowers? Then you have seen love; for flowers are nothing, but love.

The dark silently crawled into the dimly lit corridors, the cabins, and my boss's ***** mind.
The cold breeze gently and mercilessly caressed my shoulders, and my boss my *******.
I shivered from my head till toe, while his greedy gaze scanned me, from my head till toe.
The off-key beeping of a distant computer troubled my ears, and so did his hungry voice.
My incomplete files presented a pretty sight in front of his hands piercing through my self esteem.
Per his routine, he'd played all what he wanted with my body, and left it there to perish.
Next day in the meeting he tells his employees, "this office is your temple."
"Sure," I whisper.

DAISIES

Will you walk through the daisies with me,

while the moonlight wraps us

in a cold huddle,

making us feel at home?

We can walk barefoot

through the flowers,

while the grass tickles our toes.

We can lay down

and look up at the sky,

while humming your

favourite song.

I can pluck the stars

and sew them into your hair.

I can make you a tiara

out of all the wishes

which the shooting stars carry.

I can lasso the moon

and fix her into your eyes.

I can capture the hush of the night,

and place it in your smile.

We can talk about nothing,

yet everything.

We can be alone

with each other.

We can get lost.

Will you walk through the daisies with me?

I am the rain,
Holding my skirt,
I descend from my abode,
To be with you.

I tap on your windows,
Hoping you'd see me,
Waiting for you to embrace me,
So I could be with you.

I wish you would want to listen to me,
To the secrets I have to tell,
And I uncomplainingly wait,
To breathe songs into your ears.

I slide down your hands,
Savouring every little inch of them,
If only you'd wrap me around your fingers,
And make me stay.

But you don't,
And I slither down you,
I glide past your windows,
Flow down your walls,
Drip down every thing that's yours,
I slide away
Away
Away...

My favourite time of the day
is when it is no longer day;
when night has fallen.

I step out of my house,
into the dark,
waiting to be embraced by the
ineffable love
and consolation
it gives me.

But oh! as the sky begins to
breathe darkness,
so does the world
existing beneath it.

As I walk down the
streets,
the night scares me.
I see
shadows lurking round
the corner;
I see
their greedy gaze
piercing through the dark,
running towards me;
I see
their selfish hands
cutting the atmosphere,
extending towards me;
I see
their brutal thoughts
waiting for me
to fall into their trap;
I see
them ***** me,
kidnap me, **** me, **** me;
I see-
I see them leave me
dead
altogether.

As the night falls,
I run away
from my favourite
time of the day.

What have I done to help those bleeding souls?

Stood here?
Gaped at them?
Been a spectator to
their eyes swelling up
after shedding gallons of tears?
Seen their bodies
wither away
like the happiness in their smile?
Watched their soul
shatter to pieces,
while they tried to fix it
again?

What have I done to help those bleeding souls?

Felt their cold hearts
turn colder?
Lent an ear to
hear their soul weeping?
Promised them
to be by their side,
always,
unlike their hopes and dreams,
which lay broken
on the ground?

Yes I did; I did
stretch out my arm
to clasp their
hands tighter
than their fears and
insecurities; I did
sing lullabies to hush their
anxieties to sleep; I did
stretch out my hand.

But how wrong I was;
I did not realise that–
they never needed the
sympathy I bestowed upon them,
all they needed was–
love.

What have I done to help those bleeding souls?

It's one of those nights,
When I take off from Netflix,
Dump all those excuses,
Give a break to my life,
And sit down to write
About
Those little daisies
Tenderly flickering in the air,
About
Those specks of dust
Warmly mingling with the sunlight in my room,
About
That last particle of confetti
From the party popper to land on the earth,
About
That hushed tick tock
Of a forgotten clock on the wall,
About
That breathy crackle
Sung by a fire under the moon,
About
The stardust
Enveloping all of us,
About
Me.
It's one of those nights again.

My family hangs on loose threads.

Dreaming in roses,
Living in thorns.

I wish I could be
the ocean,
rise and fall
everyday,
love and break
everyday,
scream and whisper
everyday,
bury and give
everyday,
shatter and heal
everyday,
I wish I could be
the ocean,
rise and fall
everyday.