You are the purest existence in this world, my love for you is unrivaled,
Your long purple, silky hair, your faint and subtle smile, your dreamy looking eyes.
Quiet you may be, but we all know you're just shy, not talking to strangers, but to close friends you will try.
The books you read are deep and meaningful, not just some children's farce,
your love for literature is strong, and so is my love to you.
A little bit edgy you are, at times, but you are no at all rude,
no evil intend residents inside you, although you're a little bit emo.
You're wonderful, beautiful, and marvelous no less,
your faint smile is what I pledge to protect.
The day of the festival, you came to my home, the sweater made me blush,
white and fluffy it seemed, and curved your outline well.
I still remember the feeling of my palm caressing your face,
smooth and perfect your skin was, how much I'd love to touch again.
Remember the time we first met, and read a book together?
Our hands touched, mind became one, and "how serene", I thought.
Then there was the time, I fed you a chocolate, you didn't even notice,
so deeply absorbed into your book, I've cherished this image forever.

Alas, my love for you will never be fulfilled,
the monitor is a long distance between us, our dimensions do not match.
You do not exist in the same world as me, you're fictional, not real,
but at least in my very fragile heart, we're not a screen apart.
To me, you are real, and that's is what matters.

I know who you are, I lived you, caressed
your involucre, immersed in your depth,
saw the entangled black worms creeping
inside you clogging your arteries, asphyxiating

your organs to insanity, as colourful
butterflies flee from your orbits, escaping
your darkness wetting your eyes, when
you bitterly smile.

I recognise you, your thoughts tarnishing
my mind, understand each one of them as if
they were mine, inhaling what inspires you
grasping the intensity of what’s invisible

to me and so clear to your impeccable
logic, every twist and straight line of your rationality,
all the synapses connecting dots through, nervous
impulses you so eagerly burn in smoke.

I distinguish who and what you hold dear, where
you hide your memories and how you use them,
the books you read and those you pretend
you did, the dread of glasses resting on your nose,

the physical agony your endure each time,
the weather changes, each time you move
to please me, before I fall asleep to the words
of the seven voices within you.

I feel your essence, cherish what delights you,
random pleasures attentive to details while
pupils transpire the shadows of your sorrows,
traveling time to acknowledge their origin,

your traumas and pains, I sense your tragic
nobility. I know why you shout acquainted,
with your biggest enemy, yourself, endangering
your health with drugs and alcohol,

your intelligence torturing you, your emotions
suiciding you.

I know you are unable to help yourself and that I
can’t either, and I now know I have to keep
a distance, for chemical reactions get me
addicted to your worst.

I look in the water,
An image staring back at me.
It seems the image knows me better than
I know myself.
I don't know identity,
Just hide it.
No one knows I can't know myself,
They see who I let them see.
"Trust me," the mirror says,
"You'll be… more real."
But I know the mirror
Is just me, but a reflection.
Except
A clean reflection.
Me as I was born, as I will die,
An exact me.
Except
I wish this water would
Show me solutions and not the problem.
But
No one needs to know I looked in the water,
They'll never see what I saw.
The mirror,
It's just for me, it's all my choice.
But
I can't forget I am not who I think.
I can hardly know my deepest self.
The mirror knows:
I am not myself. I am the reflection.

She held a heap of firewood
Atop her tender head
Walking down the narrow road
That led to her hamlet.

That old banyan tree couldn't
Allure her with its shade
Nor the burning sideways
Could force her pace to jade.

No sign of sorrow, grief or pain
As quiet as she could be
Would death alter her calm
Or would it set her free.

Prashant Shaurya ©

All Rights Reserved

You asked to have me too?

I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
You don’t believe, that until recently
I smelled and bloomed

Greedy hands were reaching out to me
They picked and tore, and took my bloom away
My odor… stolen by the wind

My leaves…
A mist desired them, eyes watering
And so I gave
But to a cloud she ran away
And built a nest from them
My branches…
Caressed by frost-bitten beggar
She too asked to have them
I gave again
She put them to the fire

You asked to have me too?

I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
Ever seen the aroma and the bloom of sin?

Your eyes perhaps caught too much light or tears?
Are you disappointed; maybe bored? Don’t go.
It seems there’s nothing left for you but you are wrong

Beneath your feet, buried deep within the soil
My root is dwelling waiting for the spring
The last and best of me
I hid and kept it just because
I’m a lilac, after all… or were I?
If you’d like I’ll show you how I used to bloom

Where are you going

Wait

Don’t you want me anymore

I see a lot of things people miss,
and am a lot of things;
those people don't see.

...even though sometimes
I want them to.

Our relationship was like the part in a movie when two people run towards each other and the main character looks so unbelievably happy and they close their eyes and just as they are about to embrace the other veers right and jumps into the arms of another.