It seemed as if the wind was more exasperated as usual,
its coldness brushed
against her skin.
The leaves were completely
in sync with wind,
angry as ever.
The sun it seemed had
disappeared
and people on the streets
craved the warmth of the inside,
as they tried to hide in their heavy coats and jackets
but she took a heavy breath and stepped out.
Everything around her seemed to have meaning
and Everything around her was joyous,
she didn't care about the wind.
Her hand tightened around the
coffee cup
that was completely empty and she walked on...

i like
seeing you
happy

i really do;
it makes you
even more
beautiful

but i wish
it was me
instead
of him

who is
the reason
of your happiness

She is fond of sunsets,
yet prefers sunrise.
She cares about the weak heart,
yet is uncaring about her own.
She is surrounded by devils,
yet manages to find angels.
She is kind all the while,
yet mean at times.
She is faithful to the windy winter,
yet admires the soft summer.
She is passionate about her love,
yet apathetic in an irregular manner.
She is roughly foreseeable,
yet effortlessly unpredictable.
She is able to be whole,
yet unable to have a piece.
She is easily melted by the fire,
yet controls the tough cold core.
She lives in her own fantasies,
yet awaits an unpoetic reality.
She is a prepossessing paradox.
- Aishwarya Kulkarni

She's written with crimson red blood,
Unceasingly flowing
From her invisible cuts.

Dressed with carefully picked enthralling wordsー
Seemingly fitting, seemingly perfect
But as you read between the lines,
You'll be wrapped with her gloomy wilting vines.

She could either be a riddle
And leave you bewildered,
Or she could be an answer
And shed light upon you.

For she's a sad poem
But beautifully written.

©kg