we sit. weary pupils dilate as we watch
the dying day mourn lilac tears onto
rosy cloud-cheeks,
eyes widen like it's an action movie
and the night has begun to wake
its warriors - or worse,
it's a documentary, and
someone's burning van gogh's stars
back into oblivion. lord, we're watching
universes fall and bleed
-but the film stops there.
our sentiments are unscripted,
it's just that chill that creeps up our
collars and strokes our
amygdalae enviously-
               and i daresay, to our sightcaptor
        who begins to reach her way in
                    and withdraw, simultaneously,
      i dare speak:

          do
          not
        touch
          me

but it's hard to stay cool
when you love the face of the sun
and must sing her to sleep.

"I have lost you."
The day it took for me to say,
"Nothing more in this life mattered most."
in effect I have realized what's important until
we can no longer continue as we are,
this is not true.
I have relegated in my self-deprecation,
only



How I miss you.

"One fine morning,
                                      As usual Mary went for jog,
                   and while returning home, she checked the letter box,
                     Besides the usual bills, advertisements and offers
             There lay this ominous letter in black and crimson color...
                                                and of course,
             curiosity got better of her and she was ripping of the edges

                                    and on scanning the contents  
                                       she gave out a shrill cry...
                                          her fingers trembling
                                         her forehead sweating...
                                      
                                         It was a suicide letter!!
                                      A letter with news of death
                                            A letter from a man
                                                 who wrote this
                                         before his few last breaths...

                                       Slowly she read each word..
                             each one of them echoing in her head..
                                       the letter went as follows-

Dear Jane,
I love you a lot,
and I know you will be in shock and pain,
but I couldn't handle it anymore,
I found my answers in the dark,
I found solace in enternal bliss,
I just want you to stay strong,
and fulfill my last wish,
so lend me your attention, woman,
Do  you remember that old paino we have in the attic?,
I want you to gift that to my small sister,
Lily is naive and she would miss me and won't find any thing
To call her own anymore,
Give her this paino so that she may hold it dear to her heart,
If you don't do this for me,
then I am afraid my soul wouldn't rest,
and in a fortnight I would be chasing you as a ghoul,
you will always be my girl,
Love,
          Peter

                             Mary read and re-read again and again,
                             then she finally gave a sigh of relief,
                   and picked up her phone and went to do laundries,
                                                     You see,
                        the letter had reached the wrong destination.
                                               (what a irony)"

if ‘Untitled’
is the title
of this poem
is it really untitled?
or just perceived to be?