satin black robe, maroon nails,
my cold palms on a colder marble balustrade,
the moon soaked rose garden,
and crying angels of that medieval fountain;

Beethoven creeping in the background
but still my heart didn't strung a sound;

All I did to find inspiration
still I'm going blank for years
words won't splendidly fill my unfinished fiction;

But still I'm here
grasping onto the midnight smoke
trying to give colours to my drunk imaginations;

My tired sighs now wished
that it'd be easy
to come up with words,
a missing lover
or a ballroom ******
or a heartbroken maiden
with empty goblets filling her scars;
anything would do now;

As long as this melancholic sonata goes on,
And before this cooing midnight
disappears into a blinding dawn,
You would find my impassive face
and desperate gaze
capturing floating words
to give a meaning to this new found romanticism;

Oh my rose in bell jar!
From time to time I watch you from afar,
Keeping you in my peripheral vision
avoiding the precision
to acknowledge your decaying red;

But I notice
You've become more lively
in this unbearable gray time,
Tell me
is it your favourite crime
to mock my remaining solitude?
Isn't suggesting doubtful hope
to a dying person start of a cruel dispute?

Ah! I've known that cruelty you're trying so hard to resurrect,
You were the witness once
And You know he was the only one
That ever charming prince on a white horse
Seemed like a promising escape from my fancy confinement, eh?

With a swooning smile he bought my hospitality
And I fell in hope,
He claimed he had never seen such a beauty
Oh I wish I told him then
this beauty will last
till her awaited twenty first;
Forbidden to leave the cage
doomed with a witch's rage;

That could've spared me
from this additional catastrophe
of heartbreak;

Let me continue;

Soon shy smiles and secret glances
bloomed into hearty laughs and sensual dances
And I had never felt more beautiful in anyone's presence;

My gloomy fort now welcomed these festive winds
And I giddily waited for my blossoming spring ;

But somebody should've told me that nothing feels bitter
than the failed exchange of hearts ;

You see,
I gave him colours
but with that he painted another visage from his past,
Love rekindled in his heart and it was me left with burns and scars;

But instead of blood there were sparkles
that kept my vision lighted and filled my imaginary with scenes from dreamy novels;
And I got addicted these mocking hopes again;

So, my dear rose in bell jar!
Tell me are these imaginations bewitching you too?
Are you blushing or are you angry? You're being too red to give me a  clue;

calling out your name in the dark
It's become an excruciating custom now
An unquenchable thirst

daylight stings and moon hovers
dispassionately
over my head
heavy with laments over a fallen crest;

Still I imagine
still I dream
that you'll tune my painful screams
into a hushing lullaby,
with a promise of forever
you'd gift my gloomy tears a twinkling gleam;

But now I'm wearing this blindfold
refusing to see the light outshining this pathetic hope ;

You are not here yet,
Maybe you never will be,

But I'm not ready to move from you yet,
And I doubt that I'll ever will be free

From these painful lumps,
burning eyes
swollen throat
and prickled heart
emptying it's blood,
so slowly that years go by
And I can now feel the quitting of daylight
while my blindfold lets out a long sigh;
as if stating to end
this idiotic nonsense
of tucking heartbreak and love
under these lyrical verse;

Candle lights and a day long sigh
Gray evening tea resting by
the journal
which's last page I thought I'd pen today;

But I can't seem to narrate,
today's unfolding
about how the world I knew
Put off it’s last enchanting shred;

But this thought suddenly gone faraway
As if blown by the witches wind,
Yes, witches wind I would say
Though this reality was a thunderous cloud, it brought promise of rain;

And I didn't know my heart did witchcraft, so intense,
It hypnotised me to immerse myself in the indulgence
of cherishing an unlived memory again;

If there was a quest for the saddest shade,
I'll gladly give the address of my place,
Never-fading dull and gray;

But Gray,
with a little effort
would give-away the key to a divine delight;
That you hadn't known was always there in white;
The white that was tactfully jeopardized;

If you know gray,
then you know the scent of first rain,
Nostalgic yet refreshing.
If you know a jeopardized white,
you know sadness in disguise
Just like the way you smile
with your stabbed bleeding heart;

I'm frozen,
And I can see your spirit fade away
The liveliest shimmers of all I've seen,
And I can't do anything;

My heart burning,
Trying to melt my surrounding ice
giving a last try
to catch your glimmers,

Then it gave up
Because it apprehended to be late,
So struggle breathed out;

Then I don't know how long I slept
Maybe hoping to see you in my dreams,

Where we'll go to that street
where we always wanted to be
My rosy flush and your musing gaze
As the wind swept past the starry horizon
with the sparks of pure amaze;

The sweet scent of that blossoming love
I still remember
I watched it go away with my heart surrendered;

Now,
I'm an icy embody;

Witnessing only the passing times,
without hope;

Who could've thought that not getting over means
there's no hope?

Not that I see miles away;
Even if I try to
These icy flakes blocking my way,
I'm too cold to be resurrected now;

February Morning!
How gracefully you in your nostalgic attire trigger memories
and this profound understanding;

The rushing energies before school
How I wish I could go back and take hold,
Of those hours of pure fantasies that wasn't disturbed
by the thought of my parents getting old;

February Morning!
Maybe your fragrance wouldn't have hit me so hard,
If I wasn't preparing towards a seemingly fresh start
in the lands of the lake poets;

And I now wonder,
Intimidated by your Swift withering,
how life has hypnotized me into singing
words of worth
for the synthetic and tangible shimmering;
I feel you've woken me up from an hazy conscious;

Next year,
If I'm to feel your caressing light again,
It mightn't be from my beauteous and evergreen nest;

Maybe you'll come in a different costume,
bearing a distinct scent
That I'll both adore and hate;

Maybe because
your wind will then carry a cold solitude
and I'll terribly miss my brother and our silly disputes;
while the chaotic kitchen clangs would seem so distant
comparing to the silent heaves of crocuses in outside gardens;

February Morning!
I know if I get to know you there,
My heavy hours in library won't stop me from reminiscing;

Maybe,
Nostalgia would strike me more violently
but this time
accompanying a yearning that'll pierce my heart silently;