They are made of stars. Made of celestial beings, ever-present and never failing to make people gape at them in awe. There’s that unwavering need - itching under my skin - of desire to be selfish. To linger my hands on their flawed, moonlit skin. To be able to cup their heavenly face, to be able to peer into their starry eyes up close; I have never kissed a constellation but I would very much like to. Maybe my love for them is planetary and astronomical and maybe all I can do is orbit around them

I almost died in a car accident,
I saw the Angel of Death take my
husband with him,
I desired to leave the world too
with my beloved .
The conductor refused me to board the bus,
Saying my name was not on the list for almost twenty years to come.
So here I am writing poetry on HP.
23/9/2020

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

If you miss me at the midnight
Then talk to the sky full of stars
and feel me in the moonlight
I'm with you, don't make tears!

If you need me in the morning,
Then just look at the rising sun
and I will be with you, darling
when you usually go for a run.

If you feel me in the afternoon
So you come to the lake alone
and enjoy my voice in the loon
Bring the love back, nothing's gone!

If you feel like singing with me
then just sing with the crickets,
You can read me with some tea
in the evening, like other poets!