I'm scared of the future
And how I'll be
Fragile
Depressed
Filled with anxiety
Will I have a handle on my life
Or will the wheels fall off?
And I'm left to die
Will my feelings for change
Do they remain?
Does love exists in my dictionary
Or is it replaced with hate?
Do I see clearly?
Or is it all a blur?
Do my friends stick by me?
Do I sit in the house alone?
Do I grow old and forget my nae?
Or does the noose come to claim me?
Am I happy or sad?
Do I have kids?
Am I lost in my imaginations
Or living them instead?

In my mind,
I am sadly crumbled on the floor
And then you come
Bringing me comfort

In my mind,
I’m deeply lost in a dark wood
Then you appear
Pointing directions

In my mind,
I’m drowning unconsciously in a pond
And then you jump in
Saving my life

In my mind,
Am having bad fevers with dreams
That you are gone
And then you wake me up

In my mind,
I’m writing you difficult poems
But then you smile
And make it easy.

In my mind,
I’m not sure what I exactly should say
And you just nod
Understanding.

In my mind,
My heart is gasping desperately for love
Your deepest sigh...
Full of compassion…

In my mind,
No calmness, comfort, and no thoughts
Only the fact
That I am lost…
                                            ...without you.

A blank diary lies on the desk.
hiding the purpose on its pages.
It is willing to absorb
the unkempt emotions as ink.
Moisture of ink is ready to get dry
as scribbles of an untold tale.
It may reveal its destiny as testimony
through mysterious mist as saga.

The papers are fragile so as fingers.
Thin texture may not bear the accumulated weight
of emotions the heart carry with much ease.
As all emotions are frost in compressed past.

The chamber is sealed by the present
and key is lost in the depth of future.
But the heat of burning memories
melts the chamber creating flash flood
and gush from the heart as tears.
It reflects on cheeks as rainbow hues
masking the melancholy in its splendour.

The destiny of diary remains blank
as it never got wet by ink or contrive the tale.
Heavy emotional down pour rewrites
the destiny of  an unwritten tale.

Diary got into the shelf as a mundane routine.
While disclosing a truth of life for us.
‘Some tales are better left unsaid’……

When I see you walk, I imagine you as my bride
Walking towards me, towards a future that is awesome
I would not want this to stay as just a dream
But I am afraid that it is far from happening
Because I don't exist
Well not in your lifetime atleast
I am just the imaginary guy you made when you were eleven or twelve

But if by any chances
In your lifetime, i did exist
I will find you
I will be madly inlove with you
And I promise that I will never leave you

I'm sitting in my office with wild imaginations
I sit on my chair and roll..

I hold my pen to write wild imaginations
but the pen don't touch the pad..

The thoughts run wild no less than a mad scientist
I wish I can go live crazy

but world with rules and regulations
close my feelings in my boots..

wild imaginations.. wild imaginations.. the wild imaginations are coming through
Don't dare to hold me.. don't dare to mold me 'caus I will blast out loud

I am gonna work on my wild stuff
but I  need to start

Start is not a problem, 'caus it has already started
but the problem is to finish the work..

I'm sitting in my office with wild imaginations
I m sitting on my chair and to work

but the work is not interesting 'caus the thoughts are wild
people will never understand my world...

Words** ,
What do you make of it?
So saccharine
So chasmic
Yet
So raw
So excruciating.
That It guzzles your heart bit by bit
Words,
What do you make of it
When you see them caper
As you see your feet in rain
Or when you witness it
Spanking scorn on people’s mind
And forcing them to spend those sleepless night,
Why so confusing are them words?
Why the scent of them arouses a writer’s heart
And becomes a cause or,
An apocalypse.
What do you make of it?
When it pushes you to the apex
Or drags you down to the burning fiasco
And you think it Is fix
Words, that makes schadenfreude
Alive,
Death scary
And life so obsessing?
The base of hopes,  
Wings of imagination
The eyes of love
A scent, of imagination
A magic
A poison
A tower so bright
Somewhere in horizon
Words,
So many yet so little
Things to say
But, words are them
What do you make of it?