Strangers' Privilege


Feel bad for the silence?
the privilege of being strangers?
We couldn't make it.

When I stare at the infinity,
there is only one thing I see.
And it occupies me,
The more I stare,
its turbulence  turns me up down
inside out.

not once not twice.

Carelessly you whisper
lullabies in my eyes
Slowly I lose control leaving the hell outside
You crawl right out of me
Straight into my arms
Straight into my dreams


Not once. Not twice.

I question my sanity.
my morality and your beauty
There is How.
Then follows how long and why.

Look down at me.
look inside you.
I couldn't pull you in.
You cannot force me out.

Don't we enjoy the privilege of being strangers?

I do not wish to complicate it with more words
I cannot put it properly in words
So, if you want to know or feel, then read my silence
feel my eyes which tries so hard to hide
and hold my hands to feel my heart.
When you feel , then you know;
The feeling is simple, ---------------- I miss you
More than the dry lake misses the drops of water
The mountains that took pride on crowns of snow
- Now which stand barren and brown
I miss you
like flooded desert misses the dust
like barren land longing once more for green
like blue sky waiting for stars
like dark night waiting for sun
Without you, no place is right and nothing is okay
Like the autumn season regretting for leaves it has shed
I miss you and you know the feeling is really simple
You are like spring and the summer of the west
I miss you for nobody shook me so hard with the touch
Nobody could stir my heart ever with so much love
if you can feel, the distance should not matter.
Interest will make no difference
I miss you and that is all.
I love you and that is why.
That is why I keep scratching the cuts you leave, every time you cross my mind.

so,
I was scribbling through my diary
as every other times.
As usual, just killing time.
Outside,
The rain sounded rude
The thunder sparked cruel
I didn't like both.
And the thing about night,
its not darkness.
I was already so blinded
by daylight
with you around. for you.
And my scribbles hardly made sense too.
I just wanted to act normal.
just wanted to act I could see.
Never knowing,
was it day or night anymore.
May be , scribbles can find sense
if you could see them.
or if I could get them to you.

I like stars.
They struggle.
I like how they wait whole day
just so they can shine at night, when its dark.
Only at night
and **** those clouds.

Happy-
Many of us want to be.
But like moon, only few
get chance to shine
So Bright- although
Inherently with no light.

But stars-
I am one of them,
I suppose
Trying to;
Struggling to be happy;
To dispose our light.
and yet,...
I hate clouds.
they are not fluffy or anything.

And there are millions of stars
who falls in love with moon
baffled by its artificial light.
Just like me.
And, we are happy-
sort of.

We imagine things with Moon.

My poems are painful to me
The words I collect are
embers of her memories
She burnt me like
wildfire of Chaitra
I liked the fire better
The embers, not really.
Just this poem.