आयुष्याच्या प्रत्येक टप्प्यावर
चढण्याची केली घाई,
कुठे हरवला आनंद माझा
मलाच कळालं नाही.

स्वप्नं मोठी, इच्छा जास्त –
पण मेहनत केली नाही,
कुठे हरवला आनंद माझा
मलाच कळालं नाही.

सर्वांनी मला सावध केलेले,
पण मी लक्ष दिलं नाही,
कुठे हरवला आनंद माझा
मलाच कळालं नाही.

मेहनतीशिवाय मार्ग मला
कोणताच दिसत नाही,
हरवलेला आनंद माझा
मी पुन्हा शोधत राही.

I write as a lover, before the storm.
The wolf pup in winter, seeking the warmth.
I write in a theatre made up of dreams.
Walking the tightrope, of my tensioned feelings.

Believing the gravity serves as my foe,
to bring me to earth, abandon my hope,
A pessimist calling.
I leave it a note.

I sing as the sibling, to decorate lives.
To wrap up those present, greet who arrive.
And each day is christmas, when siblings celebrate,
together they dine in the feast they create.

I work as the father, to wisen my hands.
To cultivate friendship with life and with land.

I love it regardless, this life that we have.

There’s a voice in my head
haunting me—
pulling at the seams of my reservation.

In this forest, it calls—
soft and distant,
waiting for me to walk deeper into the hush.
In this white dress, the grass blades cut my ankles,
vines wrap around the autumn trees,
luring me farther in.

It calls whenever it wants,
wherever it wants—
patiently waiting to hold me in its grasp.

I stand beneath a towering tree,
feet bleeding into the earth,
the sky swallowed in rust and gold.

Looking far and wide,
only the vastness of forest meets my eyes.
Even as I run,
there’s only a sea of fallen leaves.

I feel the wind against my skin.
The back of my neck tingles
from a touch I cannot see.
It doesn’t hold me physically—
but I feel its grasp,
spirit-deep.

Whatever it is,
it wants to be found by me.

So I keep running—
not to escape,
but to chase the feeling of fleeing.
Letting the wind lift my hair from my face
as the sun’s light begins to fade.

Still, the forest keeps calling.
Whatever I have left—
let it be swept away by the autumn wind.


- N.V. 🥀

I stumbled upon Descanso gardens last December. Felt neck hairs stand at intention. Wishes of the past linger unfulfilled like paralyzed dreams never to be awakened into life.  Fear of replacing the one impossibly interchangeable part of the story I wish be left forgotten.

We met for early dinner. He’s holding out for better and I’m so turned on. We walk the street for ice cream, only to decide I shouldn’t.

I keep my left hand in my pocket. Distantly, I think of getting pizza by the slice with you and suddenly I’m not hungry. He doesn’t like pepperoni.

I love his paintings. He’s an artist, too. I can’t, I won’t take him to the Getty. I want to feel all of him but I don’t want to hold his hand.
Damp blankets call him home to dry. Turning away as the sun sets, I stare at the dirt in front of me, so I know where I stand, present.

You aren’t there. I glance up at the night sky and look away. No more wishing on scars. A shrouded memory of a daydream I once had haunts today I wanted to have just before I woke to the life you never were.

I’m going to the Getty in the morning. Maybe I’ll bring flowers just in case. Or maybe a camera to take photos I will never want to see. Maybe I should just stay in bed and dream a life you’re still there.

Yellow tulips and Rembrandt long your cold piercing stare. We have a date tomorrow at the Getty, it will be lovely so long not to bestir. Bring your favorite pen, as to draw the best of intentions quietly running the palate of my cheek splattered about a cold white marble floor of permeating bitterness. Peering through windows unto the imagination of immortals, bright white fades to nothing

****** be the light of dawn
Now, in step…
Symphonic daydreams tread a measure
Twisted ankles, we graciously fall.

Someday I’ll be a watchmaker,
Who crafts the hands of time.
Shaped by steady labor,
Fulfilled by each design.

Someday I’ll meet the one who turns
My hours into gold.
Our time will tick — a flicker that burns,
With love both bright and bold.

Someday I’ll feel a happiness,
That keeps in step with time.
Each grain of sand falls into place,
As if each moment were mine.

Today I am no watchmaker,
The hours pass me by.
I hold no hands and give no time,
No joy remains inside.

But someday,
I'll make the time...

As I lay here Drifting,
Tired, nearly passed into that otherworld of sleep,
mind reaches out before it fades to plead:
Would you, my Love, spare some moments in my night
Penetrate the passage to my mind
Engage me for a dream or few?
I have no care where we go, what we do
As long as we are happy together, just we two
Holding hands and laughing
Stolen secret glances…
Embrace me for a moment as best friend,
Touch me as Beloved
Hold me next to your forever
or just simply BE with me in my dream
Spare a fleeting moment here & now with me tonight
Together
Let me dream with you immerged.

He stapled his shadow to the stars,
And stitched his dreams and scars
To the sky.

He buried his voice in the clouds
then taught the mourning shrouds
how to cry.

I’m drained
My strength lessen
Too tired to continue
I want to give up

    But my heart won’t stop beating for my deepest desires
    My eyes won’t stop seeing me as the future of fashion and searching for more
     My legs won’t stop walking or crawling
     Even my pen won’t writing

I’m tired
My heart
My eyes
My legs and my pens won’t stop telling me I can’t stop until my dreams come true