Some rare nights
When I think of the world
The fabric of space and time
Just splits the swirly smog

It is for some seconds
Through the cloak of darkness
Before dawn
In the painted knit of jet black skies

I can see the diamonds of the night
Like people on empty streets
They are scattered
I wonder, lonely stones come from where

They seem to belong to me
No one shares the same stars as I (except a poet)
Yet, they choose to be in the coldest nights
When I think of your cold glare

Except, diamonds are forever
You're the scientist
Who taught me this
Through heartbreak

That a ball of gas
Which is million miles away
From our living world
Is already dead, is only alive as an afterimage

All we have is our love poetry
People are now eternally in the present
That is why some of us are poets
Because we live in the past like dying stars and write

The 4 am drive to the airport
Sealed with melancholy and unbarring silence.
Sweaty hands interlocked;
Afraid to let go.
For two hours of staying wide awake wasn't enough to absorb the repercussion we would soon be battling with.
And the new faces are just a mirage, collected stories and memories still imprinted in closed notes; the counted days of our momentary bliss.
The wait never felt like a burden, rather worth the wait to enjoy our last bite of meal.
Tight hugs and kisses, as I walked through the door with my bags and suitcases,
Never thought one day, that was the final draft of our story for five years back.

in the darkness i dance
crimson hair
like flames on the wind,
the moonlight
kissing my skin
wearing nothing
but midnight
i lie in wait,
surrendering myself
to the flames
for from the dark
my love has returned.

Matches constantly lit
No char
No ash

Unscathed

No fire
No ember
Just memories it gave

Drain my feelings into the night sky,
where only the stars can hear.
Suffocate my thoughts with
the fresh midnight air.
The only light that reaches my tears
is the moonlight.
But I still only want you here
listening to everything I have to say.

you bring joy in this earthly hour of time
spreading love and light.
kindness that you pour out of your soul.
making and creating the longing taste of hope and faith.
you are as beautiful as a flower bees.
a sun and a star that combines in day and night
nourishing to flourish the spirit of one's maze body.
eternal of it's youth to color a smile in your eyes.
and paying to shine
and as bright as the rainbow sky.

Another stanza, another, empty poem

Another line of cliche sorrows and oh

Don’t forget a splash of self-hatred and a

Sprinkle of age old, seasoned, melancholy.

How many words will it take

How many conscientiously polished

Lovingly carved, painstakingly painted

Smiles and rueful laughs will it take

For you to realise my love there is, no, end.

This won’t end, you won’t find

Your soul or your peace in hollow

Worthless words that you purge from

Your heart and- smear onto paper

Poets are lonely, where did I read that?

You don’t cry, you bleed silent agony

Into ink, into words, into poetry

You scar page after page with your

indecipherable rage at this universe

And you tarnish another pearly white sheet

With your coal black pain and silenced

Tales of lonely, lonely days wasted by-

Desperately scribbling, madman letters

Frantic to understand, the millions of

Atoms, nerves, bone, flesh that is

Pathetically, tragically, you.

And you knife away at your thoughts with

A pen in a homicidal attempt to

Slaughter the hurt inside and bury them under

Empty words and barren phrases

Poetry will not teach you to love your

Jagged edges like razor blades or your

Missing parts to the enigma that is well,

Yourself. Poetry is your hideaway from the

Ugly, ugly truth that you my love,

Don’t know who you are at all

So you continue to bleed in ink,

Cry in words and bruise on pages.

But this? Is just another stanza,

Another, empty poem.

I suppose I am
a midnight sky
as you keep
finding reasons
to be afraid
of the dark