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The night leans closer, and I let it. There’s a cold breeze brushing past my hair, a few city lights blinking like half-kept promises, and somewhere between the hum of traffic and my thoughts, I start remembering the things I never said. Maybe we all do that— stand under
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I lie down on the sylvan floor, to hear the ancient call. I listen to the lore, through winter, spring, summer and fall. Through the pit I bore, embraced the past in thrall.
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Every sunrise feels older now, like it’s seen me fall and still returns— I think that’s what love must be. It doesn’t ask for explanations, doesn’t wait for me to be ready. It just shows up— steady, unembarrassed, pouring gold over the ruins. The kettle hums,
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Let me fly a thousand miles in my dreams, As only in dreams, I feel truly free. Let me wash my sins in rivers of pure streams, Where fear of drowning claims no hold on me. Let me not be judgmental, Of the quiet virtues of those with tender hearts,
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The sindoor does not just rest on her skin— it transforms her. Her face, already a garden of laughter, suddenly carries the radiance of flame. Every curve of her smile glitters brighter, her eyes bloom softer, yet stronger— as if the sun itself leaned closer to watch her shine. In
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Each to their own orbit, bound, Each to their own center, wound. Each in their own sphere, confined, Each in their own spin, defined.
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Please be a little slow, oh summer ! In sunflower fields , sleep a little, oh summer ! On mangoes and jackfruit logs where bees buzz and stuck With thy warmth lives bloomed with the grandeur of luck. Shaking of the drunken drowsiness of Spring . All in a tune those sun soaked afternoons
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Your eyes. Your beautiful brownie eyes. They remind me of the season autumn . The way they shine feels like falling leaves in golden skies. Soft as whispers that comfort my soul, A warmth that stays and makes me feel whole, A golden fire that makes me feel comfortable. And every
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Here’s to reaching out to an end of me, Stranded by multitudes of blockades. The rift came along, and I survived, Not by my own self, but supported by their deft hands. What’s unseen, though, are the silent touches of friends. They saw me, even when I was
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Bumblebee cold, Bumblebee blue. If I boot that around with a leather laced shoe. Bumblebee buzz, Bumblebee fly. Once I find out the main reason why. Trapped in narrow margins, between anger and hunger. I can see outside but can’t get there Someone shut me out and won’t
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Not a roaring thunder neither a hailing frost It's a March awakening with sunshine of joy While each sound insists to be that friend whose path yet not crossed With mine; winding leaves,survived seedlings. Distracted my thoughts those were meant To produce a fruitful verse sitting alone
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In the joyous and blissful state of mind, Where soul has not lost its luster, The unbecoming of self Is but a truthful obedience- The righteous path of inner being Is laid down, for the mind to conquer. Yet conquest here is not of stillness , But filled with rigours of