i dreamt about us —
a forbidden touch,
where hands met,
souls intertwined,
shirts unbuttoned,
drunk on wine.

i dreamt of the slowest burn —
sparks from your lips
merging with fuel from mine
tilting my entire world
upside down.

‘did you sleep well?’ you ask,
stirring your morning coffee.
i smile, face flushed with heat.
‘i had such an angelic dream.’

My mind called me foolish,
For loving a soul unfamiliar with my name,
But my heart always begged a question,
What if they felt the same?

My heart had memorized
Your grace, like a song,
But my mind would try to convince me,
It's all fiction, and heart is wrong.

Mind would often say,
"They don't know you, and nor do they care."
But heart would deny and argue,
That they're simply unaware.

My mind thinks that it's right,
I do think so too,
But what about the frail little heart,
That just wants to say, "I love you."

In front of me, two paths diverge,
One of my mind & the other of my heart,
One asks me to end it all,
And the other offers a new start.

Now I shall ask myself,
Shall love blind me, or shall I be smart?
Which path do I walk?
mind or heart?

he didn’t peel my orange,
I let tears shed down my face,
I’m not supposed to be sad,
after all, it’s just an orange.

a sweet and sour fruit,
the color of a prison jumpsuit,
I think I need a parachute,
to rescue me into absolute.

I don’t notice anything else,
just the fact that he refused,
but I stop to think and realise,
that maybe I need to be defused.

all these problems climbing up,
rushing in from the *****,
when a sweet turns to sour,
and something snaps inside.

Why am I filled with smoke,
Why do I feel this way,
Why am I so dependent,
It’s just an orange anyway.

so I start slowly,
taking the skin off,
piece by piece it falls,
and it reveals something sweet.

suddenly I understand.
To peel someones orange,
means I have to peel mine first.

I asked my better halves
how they desire to lie,
once their hearts stop beating,
and breath bids a last goodbye.

Whether they want the stars to
sculpt their constellation, or
the wind to whisper their
cacophonic tales.
Whether they want the earth
to devour their cadaver, or
the skies to weep and
wash away their existence.

The guitarist stated he'll despise grief
as his memories are being relived,
of who he was and who he remains,
as his guitar sleeps in the arms of its heir.

And maybe, the perished strings of an old guitar
don't have to be mourned over,
but applauded for the melodies
that once kindled a ripple of delight.

My dearest across the border
wishes to be nestled beside a mosque
to be enwreathed by The Divine
and lullabied by the Azaan.

And maybe, the eternal slumber is a charade,
and the past still echoes
within the mute boughs or
streets alive with familiar voices.

My junior casts an absurd wish —
to be submerged in cocoa's caress
and be tossed to the lesbian zombies,
who hunger, not for flesh, but for a passion, so savage and insatiable.

And hence, I believe, the hilarity will haunt forever,
but so will my adoration for her,
and perhaps, the craved fervour will
find its form in me.

Then, another writer wove it in her own syllables —
she urges to sink beneath the dismissed waves,
flicker among starlight, like undying thoughts.
She wants her bones to dissolve, ink for Gods,
and her heart to rest beneath a willow.

She wishes to slip into silence,
like laughter scattered over dreamy vinyl,
breath scattered over moonlit stars,
and a page torn mid-sentence.

And lastly, if you enquire of me,
I wish my corpse to be a legacy beyond self
and be gifted to time and science.

But if coerced to be cremated,
I wish to reincarnate as a litchi tree.
With my arms extended in a welcoming warmth,
I will embrace the excluded,
my shadow will shelter the weary,
and my fruits will sate the starving.

All of which I was never offered
in the frigidity of my bloodline,
but was abundantly endowed with,
in the refuge of my closest mates.

i was always the kind
with a toothbrush to spare
reserved for only you,
not knowing who you'd be.

a friend, perhaps, in need
of a soft bed and duvet,
a midnight love, leaving
just as sudden as it came.

maybe i was always
hoping that my sanctuary
would be enough,
and maybe, just maybe,
you'd peel the old love away,
like paint from a windowsill—

but you never stayed.

To me, you're like an angel, sent by God above,
To cleanse my soul of sadness and fill it with love.
You are my inspiration, and I want to thank you,
For without you, I don't know what I would do.
You've changed my life around
And turned my frown upside down.
You have shown me the way
So that I will never stray.
For this I want to thank you again,
For staying close by and being a friend.
And to end this off, I just wanted to say
That if you need a friend,
I'll be there till the very end.

I tidied the corners,
stories simmered in the chilli,
scattered petals on the grass —
rose-red, next to a single lily.

I’d chosen the music with care,
but laughter co-wrote the score,
each chorus pulling us closer
to something warmer than before.

We bathed in rain, clouds, and sun,
each one carrying a moment,
where secrets come undone,
and quiet truths are spoken.

The fairy lights lit up,
as the world flipped slowly —
a circle of soft goodbyes
turning intimate into holy.

As the solstice faded,
and it struck twelve once more,
a day like this feels sacred,
as the season shifts the shore.

This night won't conclude us,
though the dusk will surely dim.
We are only at the beginning,
on the edge where stories swim.