He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

She controls her laughter,
lets it slip from the edge of her mouth,
the corners of her lips lift ever so slightly,
then, she makes a sound,
seamlessly, her fingers graze my thighs,
smoothly, her eyes meet mine,
and in her eyes, I see my reflection—
aflame, abashed, and fiery,

She is the answer I’ve scoured the world for,
and yet, she, herself, remains a mystery,

Ah, I see,
She controls her laughter
as easily as she controls me.

Silence filled the icy storm
that brewed within me
thrashing with persistence
memories drip like melting
icicles that hang off
my bleak, chattering heart

Pale-blue doesn't
compliment you
I prefer the pink
blush that stains your cheeks
whenever I muttered,
'I love you'

In this moment,
you are still so beautiful
a replica of Snow White
lying still in her glass casket,
but it seems true love's kiss
really was a portentous tale

breeze ripples palm groves,
a gleam in coconut fronds;
past peeps through the mist!