Embers of your lies
still hiss beneath my ribs.
Smoking through the ruins of trust.
No firefighter can convince them to die.

Promises are dinosaur's eggs,
destined to hatch something
you can’t control.

Hatched eggs grow legs and show up
at your doorstep ,
asking why you left them

Roses rise for the memory
of your hand.
For the warmth you taught
them to feel.
For the sighs you left in the
folds of dusk.
For the dreamy gaze which
softened its thorns.

They bloom wildly to make
our meetings eternal.
To turn each stolen glance
into spring.
To listen to your "yes".
Not once but always.

She held the sky in her hand
to unveil the first morning
blue and trembling
like love before its name.

He tried to catch a glimpse of her,
to unveil a closeness near
soft and golden
like warmth before it learns to appear.

Orchards of fruits obscured the gaze
leaves hung like listening skin
So, desire plucked them
like want before it learns to begin.

Peaches began to shimmer and fall,
she held them in her arms
and he held her
like longing before it learns its harm.

They took the bite together
sweet and spilling.
Almost burning
like a kiss before the soul goes still.

This is how the first love story ran
And the world didn’t end, it began.

Beneath the piano's lid
lays a maestro murdered mid sonata.
while the ballroom spun in lace and lies.
The revelers fled, but their souls stayed.

The chandelier still shivers,
as if remembering the scream that shattered the final waltz.
The floorboards remember the rhythm of panic.
A trail of pearls leads to the piano,
like breadcrumbs for the dead

Mirrors fracture under the weight of secrets.
They spill secrets like cold blood.
The portraits have no eyes now.
Their gaze dissolved from knowing.
They saw the music beg for mercy.
They saw the conductor’s baton become a dagger.

The piano plays itself at midnight.
His breath trapped in the strings,
trying to finish the song that killed him.
The keys have no fingerprints.
as if guilt wore its manners.

And in the corner
the last guest remains.
A widow in bone-white gloves,
She waits for the song to end.

I didn’t fall for you.
I weathered into you.
I loved you like erosion:
slow, brutal, inevitable.

I didn’t chase you.
I tectoned toward you
I loved you like sediment loves gravity.

I didn’t touch you.
I lichened to your absence
I loved you like a fault line loves pressure.

But you loved me like weather loves stone:
briefly, and only to reshape me.
loved me like a glacier:
slow to move, quick to forget the valley.

Our love story will last till
mountains forget they were once oceans.

You never knock, just crash through ceilings in thunder heels.
You ghost me with fog, flirt with the moon,
and leave pollen on my doorstep like cryptic love notes.

I have seen you dressed in monsoon silk,
barefoot in sandstorms,
wearing mountain ranges like shoulder pads
and rivers like mascara that never runs.

You are chaos in couture,
a vine that strangles and a breeze that forgives.
You kiss with oxygen,
but you bite with bees.

I tried to tame you once,
built fences, trimmed hedges,
named you “landscape.”
You laughed in wildfire.


I love you in drought and flood,
in cracked soil and overgrown jungles.
I love you when you bloom without permission,
when you rot with purpose.

So here I am
kneeling in your dirt,
offering my plastic sins,
asking for nothing
but one more sunrise
and the mercy of shade.