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Empty Strands

Proximity into the dark blue sky.
Light & shade of the shimmery world
makes me feel shy.

Dark kohl eyes, watch me by and
I lie silent inside the four walls of my life.
As each sec, hour & day gently pass by.

Melancholy memories in echo
leave me furious.
As I begin to write the pen hits my ego.

I spend hours in the empty strands.
I realise that those essays with little hands,
have casted their way for bluish poetries.

Few poems, lyrics and some part of me
lie on nothing but empty stands.

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Featured

Wish

Shooting star.
Words behind the lips freed.
A paper plane found itself crossing the river of clouds.




 

Featured

Letters

Unspoken words kissed courage in letters.
Crumpled darlings returned back whining.
The rivulet saw it coming –
love started sailing as paper boats.

Image

QUEER

13450080_10209250688841518_3738041188104456446_n                                    I

Freedom. Fragments of freedom
minds choose to chase.

Glimpses. Just mere glimpses of it –
Skittery branches, hope you see the light.

Proud. Loud.
All hail, Society’s Straight.

 LGBT is free. Open.
And their opinions, ‘straight’

 

                            II

Love letters have had raised eyebrows.
And love stories, sword.

Love slivers form;
formed LGBT: blessed hearts of Gold.

Cramps in the heart, vision squints.
‘Tis pity that society thinks its queer.

Hope leans against the sun.
Like, a cat on a hot tin roof.

 

                          III

In the half-light you think ‘tis love.
Broad daylight and you ask if it’s movement.

Freedom flickers on narrow streets of normality.
And, love enters through rivulets of movement.

Minds behind soda glasses,
opposites attract, they say.

Love strikes gender alike –
Can there be a why?

 

                        IV

Pretty. Pretty. Love.
Rainbow is now an umbrella.

Ahoy! Queer’, screamed the law instant.
And, it rained from the eyes again.

You have your identity.
Let them have theirs –

After all, you see rainbows after rainfall;
you don’t complain the divine.

 

 

 

USME

There’s no such word.
Spell it correctly,
and it becomes ‘Muse’.
Err but only the spelling.

The dried ink pot waits for its better half.
Rain-washed away the marks
of its presence too.

Love is in the act.
Not in any youngish tale weaved
by expectations.

Its absence weakens abstinence.
But then, when did absence of light
meant darkness?

 

Dull Box

Short days are painted in known ways,
Short nights are familiar delights.
Sparkling words in the light and shade,
The lost wind seeks direction undismayed.
Swirls of dense clouds
Spinning round my face.
In the midst lies a shining star,
That I can trace.
Knowing am a flint,
Lying at some corner of a closed circumference,
I could see the rest of my life to glint.
The sun rises & sets.
The wind flows & goes.
My life retches,
As it stretches.
Failures flecked my life,
I feel like cutting it short with a knife.
I lapsed quite in an inactive state,
When I realised that I am a dull box,
That too, obsolete.

B’CAUSE SHE’S EYES ONE IN A MILLION.

When my day turned cold,
cheer up is what I was told.

Whisky had its toll,
the mood swung, the thoughts lose and
the iPod played Rock n Roll.

I took out a pen and a diary
to write a song about a fairy.

It’s 6 A.M then and I was off to sleep.
Lost in dreams, my eyes peeped.

I couldnt help but go deep,
its hard to resist even though I was asleep.

Because she has eyes 
One in a million|
Because she has eyes
One in a million|
 
I woke up with a half-slept dream.

To my rude awakening, 
sometimes her reality-kissed eyes become a stream.
Is there a heartache?

Sometimes it becomes the grace of kohl.
Is it just another imagination of mine
or is she her own masterpiece?

Sometimes they become the innocence of a 2-year-old
and sometimes a mirror for the heart.
Is it a reality or is it an optical delusion of the mind?

Asked a distressed me,
soon my soul answered:

Because she has eyes.

One in a million
Because she has eyes
One in a million

Her eyes could only hear
but I never spoke. 

My heart was heavy and cold. 
The limbs shivered but I was bold.

I have a fairy tale that awaits expression,
and how I wonder the Lips of ashes 
rarely want to speak ‘bout a thing. 

Because she has eyes 
One in a million
Because she has eyes
One in a million