The sun blazing fiercely,
the moon longed for eagerly,
days draws to a close in quiet beauty,
plugging in cold water is inviting,
the tide of desire running low;
           scorching Summer is now here, My love

It was raining yet it was perfect weather; the wind rustling through the trees. I was standing solemnly looking at her hair, which was rambling in the air. It seems wind stopped there momentarily to play with her hair. With which, the struggle, she tried to keep her hair intact with her hands. The sight by the edge of cliff. I see only yellow from that point and I wished to write about her but after a moment I realized that I was so mesmerized by the sight of her struggle with her hair that I don't even bother to look at her face. A faceless Girl.

If she’d said something
I wouldn’t be giving upon her
Any where I would have followed her.
I’d haven’t missed her, only
If I’d not have giving upon her.
I know she’ll not miss even a gleam.
And I’d have bring her ice cream,
If she’d said something.

I would have woven
and spin my life round her,
If she’d said something.
I thought she would
be an epicenter of my life.
But when strop cut, I’d gulped
whole solid salty ****.
And I’ll grow dead -eventually- in evenfall.

Nightfall ought to be peaceful,
but it clutches your way like in gears.
A constant, perpetrated picture
keep your head occupied like a
brook flows with babbling sound.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark,
with same old empty felling in the chest.

A breeze brings with aroma of violet.
I lay on sand of salty water,
tides making growling sound.
I spoke to clear sky.
And I spoke to all.

Good bye - All men die.

Cords of neck grows tighter
as head becomes heavier,
standing upfront, facing, pool
of black head - class.

Those eyes keeps on
staring as on naked body,
Those mouths keeps on
murmuring as a child baby.

And yet I didn’t lose to wear
a folly smile in gloomy light.

Once bluey-green foliage was
chirping in cold breeze just like
I am shrieking, internally,when
I lose my cold chord in middle.

Now, tree stand near
window, with open brown
hand under soggy blue sky.
All green gone.

Those brown hand become
stiffer in cold breeze.
Awaiting for autumn to
cherry blossom.

As I am dying for this
period to over,
where I stand frozen
under black shadow.

She who died in summer.
     She who died on train.
She who died at dawn.
     She who died in class.
She who died in kindle garden.
     She who died at each corner.
            
Only she who get evolved.
          She who is a dream now.

The sky start shading,
flashlight flicking it all the way,
vehicles honking all away.
I stand day,
among desolated trees.

Bulbs start glowing
Birds cease chirping
Wind still whistling
I stand still,
among desolated trees

Moths start flying in hoping
I too love them tonight.
They crave for light
that killed all last night.
I stand lone,
among desolated trees

My light starts fading as
the dawn starts gazing.

So now I stand on paved
ground turned off,
hoping you do heart me
Is all that I pray.

Pack of lies explode
        as a match stick  
lighten gasoline.

Laying in my emotion.
Espying you in my ocean.
Drowning in your lotion.
Singing your song… na na na… aana  
That’s how you sang it.

Looking you in the mirror of memory,
all night goes in weeping dream.
You are a sleeve of my waking gleam,
Your voice still beams
in my emptiness.

I wondered silently, on shore
of misty stream, how will I paint
you tonight - Bold and bright red.
But I am scared that there is no you
except in my empty heart.

I wondered what it would be
like sitting beside you on couch and
reading you my heart’s bleed. But
internally I squeal like a child when
I behold the truth.

rolls down like
soldiers falling down
in enemy ground:
Stillicide

You had slowly sunk your knife up to its hilt into his chest, piercing it into half. You saw his life slowly evaporate from his eyes. But you still heard his heart's pump which had grew old, crumpled and soon would be silent. You had felt his life trembling through the knife in your hand. It had almost overcame you for time being, the gentleness of being at the center of act of guilty. Guilty of being humane less. Then again it started flowing in your veins, but this time in much vigor, fearful and drearily. This largely ephemeral fear went away when you started plumping the knife several time with out being aware of him. It was like cutting butter with no resistance at all. While doing so you had went to floor with him to finish him. His eyes was remain wide open, you got the impression that he was imploring you not to harm him but to do right thing.*

You heard a hazy voice, "Thank you."