I fell in love with him
I fell in love with you
fell in love with words
Why am I such a fool?

I fell in love with his arms
I fell in love with the strength
fell in love with the feeling
but never sure what it meant

I fell in love with reactions
I fell in love with his passion for words
fell in love with a presence
and a gentle sigh I heard

I fell in love with thoughts
I fell in love with given time
fell in love with the ponderings
that wander through my mind

I fell in love with romance
I fell in love with a heart in a whirl
fell in love with imagined caresses
Could you fall in love with this girl?

I know two people with your face.
One of them loves me
And one of them hates me.
I fear you
Because I never know which face
I will greet at your door.

Surrounded by many,
stuck in a crowd.
Midst numerous persons,
midst noises so loud.
I’m often in groups, in herds, in throngs,
meeting new people- Punjabis or Bongs.
Laughs and greets
as though in trance.
dancing on beats
as though having a chance.
I seem to be calm, normal and happy.
I’m far for thus, I feel so ******.
Truth be told, I’m the classic case
of being alone midst many a face.
But when the darkness surrounds and
helplessness sets in,
I remind myself
of what it takes to win.
We come into this world
single, alone.
Exit the same way,
ensuring it shone.
Keep up thy spirit- it’s what counts the most.
Ensure your life deserves a celebrated toast.

Reminder:
It's better to be losing her in books
than losing her to someone else.

a.g

I can't write like you do
I can't really compose
Grace has always eluded me
In movement and in prose

You write of such big things
But they are still all the same
Me? I can't really toy
With ideas so insane

I'm not a professional wordsmith
My art hasn't been trained
When I write, the words flow easy
Unabashed and Untamed

You and your words are sculpted
Precisely, with finesse
But with a subdued gloss and lack luster
So twisted so suppressed

And now I see my dear self
Finally in a clear way
Not in my movements or in the glass
but on my inked page

So if you ask me, dear self
Which cage do I choose?
I'd choose my dented brass one
Instead of your golden noose.

Fingers shake.
Scribble down one last thought.
Sigh of relief.
Lay envelope under pillow.
Eyes close.

This is a poem,
Like any other poem.
About a girl who met a boy.
Did they fall in love,
Yes,
They did.
They fell,
Like the rain.
Then,
One day,
The boy,
Smiled.
And that was that.
But,
The girl,
She couldn't forget.
She couldn't forget that smile.
And, so
She wrote to him.
A poem a day.
Everyday,
Before she slept,
Slipping them under her bed.
With each passing day,
The girl wrote a new poem.
And soon,
She became an old woman.
But,
The boy had also become old,
And, once again, he left,
Resting in peace.
When she found out.
The old woman didn't know what to do.
So,
She wrote one last poem,
And slipped it under her pillow.....

The old woman down the street had died.
Who was she?
No one came to her funeral.
Apparently, there were pieces of paper stuffed under her bed.
Its trash now.