Just once let the reflections
in the mirror
live and speak
curse and cry
laugh and go complete mad

for I am sure
they are dying to do so
since we started hiding
from ourselves
long ago

She came like a tornado
uncontrollable,
untameable
and took me to places
I never thought would exist,

only to leave me there
with blurred memories
and with whatever she left
of me.

We have laid to rest
our past
like an afterlife

wrapped with everything
we could get our hands on,

the childhood,
the curiosity,
and the indifference towards
failure

all lying in a single place
left to suffocate alone.

I wonder will they die before us
or after?

true love
if lost,
becomes a story
written by those,
who are afraid of the ending.

stories of these kinds
always give restless nights
to the writers
till the end of their
weak lives.

so if you are writing one now,
write true and bravely
or never write at all.

This monotony,
of getting up

even the weather is too cold
and murderous grey

sunshine doesn't greets me
birds don't chirp

just white sheets everywhere,
a lifeless bliss

why couldn't we sleep through the winter?
does it lament over our lives?

Dreams are ravenous
for this life of ours

they can't see it thrown away
or being wasted

they will either devour the monotony from our life
or succumb one day

It's up to us to decide
whether we lie down to succumb
to this chaos

or join them
every day.

dust from the all the worlds,
a scarf knitted by a mistress from somewhere,
jar of wine that makes you forget the past,
thirst for the lands unseen,
this was all
what the nomad ever carried.

scriptures from all of the worlds
a letter written in some undecipherable language,
potion that makes you drown in dreams,
curiosity of meeting people never seen,
this was all
what the wise ever amassed.

they never traded stories
they traded in worlds.