It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.

Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.

Is it perfect, did I get it right?
Missing pieces, relatable feels.
Sweaty palms, panic, fright.
Heart jumps back, chest reels.

Incomplete, forever it will be,
blinded by the daunting fear.
No one’s work, is mastery,
others judge it, don’t you see?

Self improvement guide’s,
our next steps towards,
the best self versions,
as we move forward.

Waiting for approval,
justified by the few,
who never truly,
understand you.

They say less is more,
but there is more in less,
so how do you choose your words?
To not be left with regret!

My words are for the amateurs,
critics step aside,
together our words will flourish,
together we realize.

Get it out the door, they
say you only live once.
Continue writing more,
go on inspire on!

"With your tiny drops,
Can you obliviate my memory?"
I ask the rain;
I am scared of the happy ones,
For I know,
I can never live them again.

The tears uncried,
The respect left behind;
Shame visible on face
No, this is not just a phase.
Oh, the humiliation!
It cannot be borne any more.
Will the soul give up?
Can't say for sure.
It fell on me-
The thunder,
**And I got buried
For someone else's blunder.

Tell me things
of profound significance
and you have a pair of
unfulfilled ears.

Tell me not
of your latest phase,
nor of what you had
for breakfast and what you
didn't.

Tell me that you
and I
are born out of
the same explosive star.

Tell me that your
rented house and mine
will burn and
collapse
under the heat
of the same sun.

Tell me not of
the latest track
doing its rounds and
selling tee-shirts and raising
eyebrows.

Tell me not of
the latest scandal
engineered by ghosts
on their pet nymph.

Tell me that
you'll die tomorrow
and that my words
will remain in you
and rot in velvet flannel
as they lay you to sleep
under the ageing grass
sprinkled with holy water
decorated with lazy inscriptions.

Tell me not
your latest trick, tell
me not your mother's
tryst with a man as
old as you.

Tell me that you'll
stay young and burn
with me when the
crowds come, calling me on
bringing me to account
for all that I failed to talk of.

Tell me not of the many things that trouble you.