Saayali.

On the back of my mind I know I have a home to go:
Where the lights fade into endless conversations
About the phony and the afraid that surround us all.
Swallowing me complete: the poetry, the serenity,
The solace, the presence of someone time taught me
How to love. But can love be taught? 
It seeps in deep, it sings me to sleep, it wakes me
After a nap, it loses itself for me to find: this is love.
And you learn to live with the midnight comfort of
An old blanket that you've just re-found. 

Saayali, now our world speaks your words,
Now Sonepat knows a language new, that you
Taught. Taught them how to speak.
You make me question much like the intellectual
But you teach me to love like the irrational.
How hopeless, how useless, but yet I learn
For in love there's magic, in love we find
The part of ourselves we're ready to let go of.
You teach me to resist, but also to feel.
You teach me pessimism, but also hope.

Saayali, when the world speaks your words,
I smile like a proud mother. In you, I find the light
I thought missing in everyone. In you, I find the
Aggression for revolution. In you, I find the words
Once lost--never found. In you, I find all I need
To go through the day. In you, Saayali, I see the
Sky bluesky, the horizon, the radiance of a time
We conveniently forgot. And I'm afraid,
Afraid that you see nothing I see, that you fear
To be infinitely limited, that you lose yourself
More than you find, that you feel inadequate for a lot.
But that's not true.

Saayali, when you hear the world speak your words today,
Don't be afraid that they'll say it wrong. Us writers are most
Misunderstood, yet most loved. When the world speaks
Your words today, smile and hold my hand. I will show
You in those minutes that love is written, learnt and spoken
And those who run away from it, fall right back to it.
When the world speaks your words today, you will know
What I speak of when I say you teach me and I learn.
The world will speak your words today, and you will learn
How to teach love again.

Saayali, I think you forget that this is not the last time,
If no one else will, I shall speak your words again.
We need to be reminded. Need to be taught. Need
To ask the question: What, after all, is a bard?
Without your words, we might live. But live a life
Of no question? Saayali, wake up and know:
The world needs you and your words in their entirety.
And when they speak your words like they say:
"To be or not to be", I will still grin like a proud mother.
For in you, I find the truth I think I lost much before
The lights went out.

To Saayali, with all my love.

Black: You and I.

Let me come dressed in black,
For in your love I mourn,
The death of most of who I am.

Let me come dressed in black,
You were the worst thing ever mine,
Now, regret and hate can't take me back.

Let me come dressed in black,
Are you afraid of the colour of the night?
The time you let yourself fuck it up.

Let me come dressed in black,
Everything in wholeness is but one colour,
This is what you mean: dull completion.

Let me come dressed in black,
To help you realize your heart's desire,
All of it is single shades of black and white.

Let me come dressed in black,
Me: Now monochromatic, You: The reason,
Why don't we just step into the night undressed?

(The first word of the second line in each stanza makes up: 'For You Are Everything To Me.')

She is a poem.

Moon lined dreams merge in sad innocence,

For all she knew was poetry in its entirety.

"Fragments", Freud suggests. But poetry

Doesn't work that way. Skip a line,

Skip the flow. Skip a word, skip the poem.

Explaining to a band of hot-headed barbarians,

What poetry means and how an empty set

Signifies void and incompleteness, isn't

Easy. Given that these idiots weren't 

Accepting, whatsoever. Our apple-pathways

Collided at the right time, together we 

Transformed whatever the moon lit dreams

Spoke of, in colours unimaginably bright.

She was poetry: played a tune with her fingers-

The rhythm was imagination, the style was 

As free as spirits be. She was poetry: beautiful,

Hardly understood, structured, whole. She

Was the verse that flowed into another like

The river meandering and finding its way

Through the crevices on permanent rocks.

She inspired poetry alongside being one

Herself. Love, giggles, home-all the same.

She taught and learnt like a poem handed

Down the years, forever-changing in its

Meaning but intact in its words. And I

Look at her like a poem I can never create

But yet love dearly and wholesomely

Because poetry lives in entirety,

Much like friendship.

Falling right back..

As life runs in circles of aspirations and disappointments, I stand still comprehending the chaos. Not all new places seem welcoming now, and I breathe in all the familiarity I find around me so that I don't forget how you feel like. I look silently across the buzzing room to see people hug and find solace and I stand there knotted emotionally. I haven't looked more messed up, more lost. I thought we were over, done, gone. I thought I left you behind like I left home behind. I thought you came with home. I thought you and I were a fleeting emotion and yet you suffocate me through distance and nothing in the world can make me feel okay right now. I want to hold you and bury myself in your chest and cry. Weep so much that I run out of tears for the rest of my existence. I want to tell you that I hate you for never being there, for feeling for another girl, for giving me thoughts of her with you having all that I have. I want to hate you. Hate you. But yet, I fall right back to you.

Raw, naive, young.

I wish someone could click a picture of how we looked with certainty from the terrace into the warmth of yellow lights on the street tonight

I pray that this circle of comfort and happiness never breaks off into nothingness once we share a new bond

I hope that the cuddles stay, the giggles lurk, the whispers echo, the shadows dance ever so beautifully that we never forget to live in that moment

I want to sit tucked in and ask myself why is life defined by moments like these, where silence is loud and words are unique

I wish someone could capture the essence of the night in words, in eyes, in memories and tuck them into our pillow covers, so we can sleep soundly

I wish, I wish, I wish life was just poetry.

Static Frenzy.

In the crowd of drunk ramblers, mumbling a language too familiar, I stand still amongst them and look for a face.
I walk out in silent tension that seeps into me, I can hear my heart beat an extra beat by the second, I can feel my fingers get cold in nervousness-I had to see this face now.
And then I see more of the figure than the face, I see more of the colour than the smile, I walk across the distance I'd called love, I chart out the meaning of this meeting in my head.
The night caressed comfort like its baby, safely placing it in the arms of those who needed it the most. I watched it fall in his arms, his arms were now too full to have me. So I dodge a hug.
I feel his hand on my shoulder. Three pats-"I've missed you.", it said. I could hear it, it was loud enough. His head was never silent, even though he usually was. He never mouthed words like that, it seemed to be against him.
I turn to look gleefully at him, like I just received acceptance for my existence. He spoke. Words that I often forget are the words spoken. I believe in writing, in storing in memory for posterity, in feeling those words on paper, and letting them stay there forever. I'd rather remember how he moved his hand to show me the direction, than count the number of words he'd said.
So I follow and we make small talk. Conversations follow a principle- 'if you don't have too much to give, you can't expect too much in return.', much like love, I guess. The night is quiet, the streets are empty-just us trying to lull our awkwardness to sleep.
He breaks my chain of thought, he takes me to a cafe. I look around like a wary eighteen year old and he sits at a table like he knows this place since forever. He asks me to quit making faces at the place and he orders chai for us. The purpose of chai at occasions is not to make a conversation, but to escape one. You can slowly sip on your tea to bury yourself in thoughts about him, when he's sitting right there in front of you expecting you to act out on something disagreeable. To his surprise, not all extroverts always talk. Not all drama is saved for one night.
When he thinks, I want him to be still, I want to sketch that intense look he has on his face when he is expecting something but gets nothing. I like how he keenly looks at me-hopefully, I'd call it. I wonder if this is how life would be if it were with him-too silent,too intense,too loved,too unsure. I speak of some of the most random things, like how I hated coffee and how much fun college was. But in the space between us as we sit just few meters apart, the words fall on the table with a thud and I almost immediately forget what I say. He still held comfort in his arms, so I was fine but he never found solace in the silent meeting, so he wasn't so fine. The conversations could be reduced to nothing, it wasn't a story to narrate, it wasn't a song to sing, it wasn't a poem to create, it was meaningless art-appreciated for its wholeness as it filled the canvas but misunderstood as its echoing colours spoke louder. But the talk still filled the space between distance and time-spaces hell-bound.
When I run out of things to say, I sip on my cup of tea. Some wise person once tumblr'd, "Where there's tea, there's hope." I couldn't agree less that night. Our lives never ran on parallels, we just held on to something we determined as just ours. We tried to make sense to the other-one too abstract, one too logical. We would get a zero on every compatibility test, I still didn't know why I sat there calling it love. But I smiled because I like what we share, the comfortable nothingness was pure, I enjoyed the comfort. And for once, at a cafe, I felt safe. It was because of him in the red stripped tee, sipping on his cup of chai, working on this maybe.
And as we parted after our walk back into known civilization, I half hoped to surprise him with a hug, like I did once before. But I knew I'd see him again-not in red, not at a cafe, not on a silent night, but just him. My heart started to race when he said goodbye-parting is not always easy, until you finally part, and realize it just means a beginning to a new end. I felt chai-stained, the world spun to a new story, the attention we got from the universe reduced, comfort was given back to the night-I felt in love. And as he drove past me, I looked down, shuffling my feet and whispered in an almost inaudible voice, "yours truly".

Chai-stained

It goes down in history, this night, I say.
It goes down in the memories I shall always hold on to.
It sinks in deep-these words you say

Skin-deep-this elation,this emotion

Do we belong together?
Or is this longing quenched?
Is it a-
Beginning to an end?
Or an end to our beginning?

Walk past you-I can't
See you fade-I won't.
I need your chai-stained heart to feel.
I need it to beat an extra beat-
Every time you hold my heart in your palms
I need you to feel the flip in your stomach-
The start of journey-the end of familiarity

You are no depression-but the reason to hold on
You and I-the chaos we are-
Is nothing but the innocent gap
The gap we need to feel this way.
The gap we need to apologize.
The gap we need to come closer.
The gap we need to live at all.
"Distances only make relationships stronger."
I was told, but now I believe

Forever-I love thee not.
Half a forever-I spent in the moment
The moment we knew was just ours
The time we knew no one could take away
Yes, raw and naive is this life
Like an unfinished poem
An unspoken word
But chai-stained I am for eternity
Burnt and sticky, burnt and sticky.

Surreal Realities

"Arnold Palmer", she said boldly. "Arnold Palmer", I repeated in my head, learning to mouth those words I've never said before, learning confidence from a girl who said she had none. She was an inspiration of a different kind-the one that sang your sorrows away, the one that listening and cheered in your joy, the one that can never say a goodbye.
I remember having met her to say goodbye to her, to let us weep in the sorrow of separation-but as I left her side today, I didn't feel the pain of growing apart. The gold I've found in her wisdom and words, the joy I find in her logic and emotions-they never belonged to a physical reality. They always belonged to a virtual world-a world where Saturdays were life-the third dimension of our relationship. I never felt a tinge of sorrow-for we weren't losing each other, we were in fact, growing together in separate paths-when were we even on the same path?
In comfortable silence, we chewed our food-the delicacies perfecting the mood. It was just her presence that I needed, just the way her deep black eyes sparkled. I call myself the eyes which speak, but it wouldn't know how to speak if not for her-it lit up a smile. She called it "the sunshine in our smiles." She was synonymous to hope, to being the brother I never had, to the family I wanted to choose. We were weird that we found solace in each others' presence, but what better than knowing when you say nothing and feeling so much more than you can actually put into words?
We were distorted-imperfect figures-an embodiment of shame for some. But in all these flaws, we loved ourselves. How else would we know the importance of being who we are and not anyone else? Proud teenagers, I say we are. Proud of all the hope and strength we still see in life.
Our lives has traveled on distant parallels, parallels we chose not be ashamed of. If life was about choices-this was the best choice we made. The choice of never-regretting, the choice of taking pride in our choices. And if life was about finding the right person-I think I've found my right person. And no, she isn't from the opposite sex and no, we aren't getting married. The best part of this relationship is that we find, we grow, we love and we fall right back into each other at the end of the day-because we've found our soul-twins, and we can grow apart comfortably-because we know the other is always there.
Always has never meant anything so real ever before.
Always, star-crossed soul-twin. Always.

The Girl Who Wrote

Naive, young and bold-you were just like this when I first spoke to you. Nothing in the world could describe you better than the way you write. All our imperfections and our faults, all our miseries and lovelessness, all the drunk moments when we were high on happiness, all those times we counted down to college together-to you, the girl who wrote. To you, this poem-

It took an instant to love you
An instant to believe, trust
An instant to look beyond
And give happiness a chance
An instant to know you
An instant to find us
An instant to this happenstance
An instant was it all

And I promise that this wonder
The wonder of not knowing
The joy of naivety
The poetry on life
Will die with us-
When we are dead and gone
And over it all
Said and done

I promise to stay
I promise to love
Not because I can,
Because I want to.
So to you, the girl who wrote
To you, my inspiration
I send waves of love
To wherever you are
And whenever you feel like
Receive them with open arms
For I am there whenever you need
I promise-because together our pens bleed.

A love that was not

For I know this will never reach your ears
I know the poet I can never be
I know the harsh tune of melancholy
Slowly swallowing me

And I know the words you said to me
I know the serenity of your eyes
I know how these starless nights
Dimly dance sorrows away

I saw you at a distance called love
I drifted through your life of lies
I gauged your imperfections
And weighed your flaws tonight

I let the wind brush your hair
I caught the light to shine your pride
I held the strings of time and space
And hoped that you'd look behind

For there I was knowing your poem
The one you always read out to me
Never knowing I listened-
'Thoughts, actions, perseverance'

But deep inside I know the poem
The one you never wrote that night
The one you might never feel again
'Cause emotions can't be felt twice

Love can't be repeated-
Not this way, not this time
So I write to you, my dear muse
On the love we never shared that night

The love that always tore us apart
The love that questions all of me
The love that kept our lives apart
The love that we could be

For I know this will never reach your ears
I know the poet I can never be
I know the harsh tune of melancholy
Slowly swallowing me

And I know the words you said to me
I know the serenity of your eyes
I know how these starless nights
Dimly dance sorrows away

For there is perfection
In the mere presence of your light

Belonging

"I curse God for whatever happens to me."

"I curse destiny."

(Long Pause-Dad screams in the other room)

"I curse family the most."

For a long time now, I've blamed my family for everything that has happened to me, and probably, everything that will happen to me in the future. Families are the toughest to understand, but the easiest to love. You give them so much, and expect equally so in return. And when unfortunately, they don't have enough to give, you're disappointed. I honestly wish it was easier to understand what "runs in your blood" is. Is it a trait you own only because of your parents? If it wasn't for them, would you have had been this good at all? Reality strikes you hard, or rather, strikes you out, when you realise you are who you are, because of who they are. 

But what hurts more is the fact that they know exactly where it hurts the most, they know how to heal it, they probably know everything, because you're just a reflection of a combination. My parents never signed up for what goes on at home right now-the loud voices, the screams, the face-making, the unbreakable silences, the final verdicts, the unity in our brokenness and the trait of constant anger.

It has been tough putting up with a family that expresses too much in action,rather than words. It has been tough to understand that screaming is just going to hurt you,and will bring no results. It has been tough to keep track of tears that meant too little. It has been tough to live,anyway.

I've grown up to find comfort in silences,and not react to what is. I've left anger to the rest of them, but somehow, it haunts me still. The fact that I'm conditioned to react to any loud voice at all is frightening. But there's another thing about family that none of us happen to notice. The other side of the mess-there's peace, there's safety, there's warmth, there's wholeness.

Yes, family can never mean friendship because friendship is a choice and family isn't. You're locked out of their lives,more than half the time. But maybe if you knock enough, on the door, someone out there will let you in. They'll let you know how it feels like to be who they are and mean what they mean to you. And despite you not wanting it, there will be someone who watches you fall asleep every night and make sure nothing disturbs you, not even the first ray of sunlight in the morning. The thing about family not being able to be your friend, is that friendships are choices, choices you can regret, but family? You can't regret being where you are, you can only blame, only curse. You can't regret because it wasn't your choice and maybe that's what makes it even more wonderful, the fact that deep within-the root of roots and the bud of buds, you belong somewhere, you know someone is already home, always waiting, always there.

Maybe the place we are frantically looking for, the place we need to know about in order to find ourselves-Maybe that place is home where family is, where reason isn't defining, nor is emotion too little. Maybe we're all meant to be where we are, forever.

And yes, "I am who I am because of who we all are." And I guess I'm proud of it.

The IDEA of love

In a moment of pain and unbroken silence, I turned towards you. Through text messages and virtual meetings, I thought you'd complete me. Perfection had never meant something so stark and real ever before. My physical incapacity, my emotional scars, my weaknesses- they vanished, or rather were forced to get away because every time I thought of a 'Maybe' that existed, it lit up my world. The slightest idea of the comfort of your shoulder when I succumb to my weaknesses seemed like the end of chaos and the beginning of beauty, the end of weaknesses and the beginning of a future. 

But eventually, when I knew my weaknesses were hard-wired into my brains, when I realised that the true enemy can never be fought until you fight it yourself, I knew romance was not my answer to it. Love was never the answer, it has always been a question.

What if?
Or just uncertainty hanging down the like a creeper from the roof.

Maybe.

This is what kept me going for a long time. I had layered my emotional scars with moments of happiness sent through an electronic signal, from someone, perhaps, non-existent in my real world. And eventually I was addicted to the idea of the person, rather than the person himself. I never noticed how he moved his fingers when he waved at someone, neither did I notice how his lips broke into a painful smile when he said goodbye. I never noticed if his answers were the same as mine or not. I just always wanted him to be there for me, regardless of whether I was there for him or not. And I guess he never asked for too much. But the thing about crushes we develop over the internet or a text message or a phone call, is that, they are never here to stay. They give you an idea of what you want, but never will they ever let that imagination of yours take shape into reality.
And all of us know the beauty of observing water take shape of the glass container, which it is poured in. It's completeness, it's transparency, it's existence, it's presence.

I have never needed people, until recently. I have them, but I still don't find the right words to express how I feel. Of how one man changed my idea of men, of how one incident pressed into my heart forever long, will change my idea of happiness. I could never find the words, or rather, I don't want to.

These people I've let look inside of me, the ones I trusted, the ones I've given keys to happiness, were just ideas of people. They weren't actually there. Most of the people I've loved have also been ideas of a great person. But the only people I love right now are those I really know, are those I really feel, are those who are equally inadequate, who are scarred, who are deeply hurt, who have pasts that haunt them, who are as human as me and who need me as much as I need them.

All of us spend too much time contemplating our What Ifs and counting our Maybes, that when someone walks across us with eyes as dreamy as ours, they'd escape our attention, because never would we know, how to trust another person, how to judge truth in people's eyes, and how to tell phony from real.

But really, it is high time we learn. Time we know whom to lend our hearts out to. Time we know who can keep us safe and who cannot. Time we know that this IDEA of love is not really love, it's just an illusion. An illusion that keeps us going, some times. But it is not what we are looking forward to. It's not IT. It's a maybe, a possibility. But we need to run wild, throw our phones away for a while, just bump into a stranger and maybe for the first time, feel the magic in a kiss we have always longed for.

Let me run, don't hold me back

Dear Prince Charming

Dear Prince Charming,

I saw you walk down our favourite lane, hand-in-hand with the girl next door everyone speaks about.
Scarlet dress, blue eyes, supple skin, brave heels.
I notice how you take your steps with her, examining and thinking, mapping and wondering, either to put your heel down before your toe or otherwise, just so that your shoe makes a louder noise.
You hold her hip, like you practiced with me, rounded around her waist so perfectly.
And she melts over you like chocolate sauce on my sundae, merging together the disastrous imperfections.
Both of you fail to notice me walk down the same street, struggling my way into the house with bags of bonbons for my younger sister and groceries for my nagging mother.
I observe how slowly your lips break into a smile and she laughs throwing her head back and turning to you.
I wonder which joke you had told her, was it the one about the shop we used to buy racquets from? Or about how your father dealt with the police complaint?
Dear Prince Charming, I know you so well that I understand how limited your sense of humour is. But repetition makes it funnier and our jokes never get old.
I can still remember the night your hand melted into mine and you held me through the night, just in comfortable silence.
And how you held two cups of coffee in your hand for two whole hours outside the interview hall, expecting me to walk out in need of it..
I heard from the redhead neighbour we usually hang out with, that you asked her to the summer dance. It surprised me. Our rhythmic practices for three odd months is wasted upon a girl we used to make fun of?
She wears short skirts, red lipstick, stunning mascara and phony personality. She stood you up, the night we first spoke and you choose to take her to the dance we've practiced for together.
She could never belong to anybody and here I am, giving all I have to just bring you back to me.
But I cross my heart in pregnant pain and realize that, Dear Prince Charming, you're settling for less than a Princess and I'm positive that this is your loss.

You and I

You are an emotion
Burning red,a bleeding hue
And I am the colour
Opaque black,unrealistically plain
On the canvas
Of depressions and dents
Life turns to us,smiling constantly
And we merge like wet ink and tears
While the unscathed history of ours is-
Jotted down on paper at length
We are an appealing mess
A side of yours
Fitting right into the shape of my arm
We are but noisy silence
In the splurge of endless thoughts
Of worthless emotions
Of chaos and bubble like happiness
You and I
Make the perfect,imperfect
The right,wrong
The nonexistent,alive
You and I
Are like pieces of the jigsaw puzzle
Incomplete without the other

Highway: A Reflection

Highway starring Alia Bhatt and a very weird hero was a movie which gave me a lot to think about. A journey repeated, songs so soulful, beauty and grace in the whispers of nature, a beauty. This movie was a true beauty. You could feel like you were getting away from your past,from yourself. Like you are moving constantly along with Alia Bhatt. When she opens up to breathe fresh air and speak way too much, you find the ebullient joy of freedom and escape. Like the suffocation inside of you is just worth letting go off, that there is no use of holding anything inside.
There are things in life you need to reflect upon. They come with the beauty but the iceberg,undercurrent too. Maybe life has always meant escape for me,to not do what I am supposed to, to be able to get away from responsibilities, to run away somewhere where the sun wakes me in the morning and not the alarm, where the air is so fresh that confines of household is not comforting. Somewhere I can carry a bunch of books and read them without having to feel guilt.
I know,I know I cannot escape like the actress did. I know I'm bound by society, but what's wrong with expecting? With knowing that you belong elsewhere? I don't want to find love on the journey,I want to find myself. Highway was not a great love story,this was my problem with the movie. But then, she found herself at the end, and I think and believe journeys are always supposed to be introspective. Where you reflect upon yourself, give your time space and time. Give your thoughts a second chance. Speak to yourself. Take decisions. Life life a little longer. Run away from yourself. Make peace with your past. Just like she did, Begin Again.

Big  Time  Swiftie  

Forever and beyond.

For times we found hard to let go

For dreams too sugar-sweet to forget

For whispers in husky voices across a classroom

For suppressed excitement in velvet glittery eyes

For wide smiles we fail to capture

For sun-burnt cheeks reflecting the lovers' blush

For soaked eyes in times of fear

For suffocating hugs too warm with emotions

For broken promises and shattered bonds

For short naps in math classes

For dark insults now cliched

For arms protecting the other

For memories like chalk powder all over the floor

For lunches like ink stains sticking on forever

For sarcasm wrapped in every joke

For EVERYTHING that you guys have given me

For every moment we spent till its end

I fall short of words, because what you have given me are like rose petals that may fade away,dry up and fall apart,but if I hold them together, they'll be with me forever.Like all of you.

Happiness in Disguise

Cold fingers of mine brush against the warm steel railing
I wonder why the steel railing is so hot, when the whether is pleasant
I look at an old lady coughing out bitterness as she is pulled down the slope in a wheelchair. Her wrinkled skin, the lost rosiness of her cheeks called for love, just a little love.
Standing still, giving her space, staring blankly ahead I reassure myself that I had to go ahead
The tired sloppy security guard checked my father as I walked inside hesitantly
Everything suddenly lost colour, all I could see was white with specks of random colours indicating life to my blurred eyes
Hastily I turn either side to observe an old woman shrinking and cradling herself in her own arms.. Her loved ones seem too busy settling bills and checks, ignoring her child-like need.
A young boy whose burning red eyes express his need for the plastic wrapped 2 centimetre tablets..
Breaking from this image and the insane spinning of my head, I hear my father call out my name
I run after him, thinking this will help me escape the pain, the vibes of craving needs which I can never fulfill.
Walking up the stairs, I see guards, patients, relatives, doctors, nurses, maids run past me.. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry while my life was freezing, coming to a halt, a pause where expressions are but blank and white. Just one colour. The colour of sorrow,pain,loneliness,need. White, just white. The funny thing about white is it is every other colour, but yet lifeless. I love white,but now I didn't. It connoted too much to handle.
As I walked down the empty hallway into a room, my grandfather lay there, grinning at my presence. My grandmother growing smaller providing space,but lifeless. Tired she was,of all the people. Of the single colour, I assumed. But suddenly, cheer spread in the room, as we sat down to talk. Happiness had seeped through the heavy cement walls,somehow. The place I grew to hate,became a home,because my family was here. Happiness had found its way back to me. It is like a weird relationship I have with Her,Happiness. She is looming around me in disguised forms, but I recognise her,always.
I bid my goodbyes,and take the lift this time. I don't look around, I just look ahead. I only saw the railing. The steel railing, and everything fell into place. The steel railing was hot, not because of the sorrow, not because of the danger, but because of the warmth. The warmth of humanity holding on to it. Because in hospitals,no matter how sad a place it is,love grows in leaps and bounds,and happiness will always find her way.

Papercuts.

Buttercup memories of yellow lit nights
Growing upon each of us magically
The wasted pain in every syllable of laughter
Wondrously vanishes as we drive through

The chilly air kissing our bare tanned skin
Reminiscing an afternoon of floating feather light
Affording to lose a little precious time
We stand interlacing thoughts apart wide
Closely we hold on, counting each breath
Because we know that after all
We aren't peas of the same pod
Love isn't found in a hopeless place
We are but paper cuts on each other
Meagre but painful and impressive
Colour changing but short-lived
No matter how long we stay together
We are different, each have anew way to go....

More than a Dream

The lover's poise
Hand around my waist
Hair let loose
A peck on my neck
Now hands intertwined
Strengthening a bond
Turned and now I'm hugged
Runs his fingers down my spine
Passionate eyes look into mine
Careful hands hold me together
Then he lets go of me
And I walk into the dark
Fading away into oblivion
Unknowingly, yet steadily

A gift wrapped air tight container
My definition of this love is
Can not let you go, can not hold on tight
It is in somewhere between
Where everything falls into place,
Where everything just seems simpler and better.

Sister, for you

Reminiscing those nights we spent together curled up in soft overcrowded beds, having our endless talks under the thin lined blankets, it is hard to believe that you are twenty now.. Too old to be naive too young to be stern.. The moments of breathtaking incidents, how we felt so much for each other, that your pain was mine and mine yours.. Sisters by blood but friends for a lifetime. You're my basket of secrets and my memory of childhood. You're my bundle of happiness and an epitome of strength. You're everything I need to make believe that life is worth living, you're an inspiration, a heartbeat and everything beyond. Miles apart we might be, distances counted in words.. but I carry you in me, sister, in my heart and dreams. You've looked after me right from when I was baby who didn't know language, to a sweet child without reason, to a beautiful bold personality. I can not repay you in money nor in words, everything is weak when it comes to you. I know we've done mistakes, I know we've fallen, but I know you are there for me, and I am here for you, anytime and everywhere. Affectionate nights of passionate dream frames.. I remember looking up at you then. You may have not taught me to be extraordinary but you taught me something greater, to just be ME. On your birthday, I want to tell you that without you I wouldn't have a direction. I am not thanking you, it was your duty. You're my sugarcandy and I love you too much! Stay strong. Stay beautiful. Stay forever your naughty, adorable, and silly self! Oh! How could I forget, I used to never be a part of your mischief. Heartbreaker! Teaming up against me, playing games I never could understand. You've been your share of mean too. No complaints! You're my sister, you've got the right, haven't you? I badly wish I was with you, I don't like this unwanted separation. See you soon, dii! By The Way, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!