Yes, we often come across one another at that old library
All these years and you clueless of my intention
Have you noticed I am always in your periphery
I always pick the same book but never will I ever mention
I remember the day you inquired about my favorite book
A simple question, our first conversation, and your curious look
I wish I could have said it was you
The only book I read among the very few
Again and Again

Drowning in the pool of judgement syndrome
The cold water soothes my festering burn
Tangled between hours like a ****** palindrome
Air escapes my lungs like the westering sun

So pull me against the gravity if you can
These legs refuse to wake from their sleep
face my tales of depravity a man
Who begs for the ache but runs from the weeps

The fading warmth welcomes this surging numbness
Eyelids now decide to double their weights
Intelligent ones breeding an incessant dumb race
Thy deeds do not outweigh their widening plates

Is it strange that i like my wounds fresh?
Sort of like a hangover that never ends
I hide my intentions behind this skin dress
Reveal one day I must, infliction my only mend

The sky cries again in agony
Flashing the lights to conceal its pain
Hammered against the innocent dirt
Losings its fight to get clean again

Let this body soak up its share
For darkness has a way to repair
These wounds that run deeper than seas
The mind says sorry, the heart says please!

So, let the lights slowly dim out
As pain has reached its maximum charts
Can't help but embrace this inner shout
The needle almost seems like poison darts

There was a flower, blossoming on the shoreline. Beholding the serenity of the seas and criticising the rise and fall of the indomitable tides.

It swayed in the balmy air and loathed the dusty storms.

It adored the sun's radiance and mourned the moon's norms.

It extolled the aesthetics and execrated the wrongs.

It denied the nectar but appreciated the honeycomb.

There was a peyote, living in the dreary sands. Mesmerized by the great dunes, standing like a tomb.

Relishing the scanty rains with much aplomb.

It grows its roots in the search of water,  many call it a coxcomb.

Such is the folk, unaware of the real beauty for so long!

                                    - Swasti Jain

" Poltroon " she cried,

While her knuckles were white with rage.
Perturbed,  she was while her father passed away.

Solitude, she chose while earthlings left her dejected, like a stray.

Erratic, were those times when she decided to unravel the intricate stories of life and not get bewrayed.

Lost, she was in the absolute beauty of the cosmos waiting for someone at the bay.

Soon, she realized that a lifeboat would never come her way.

" You're a stalwart , get up and find your own way ".

Much did she know, rest she deciphered.

And found herself flying in the sky of aplomb,  like a mockinjay!

                                        - Swasti Jain