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’



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.



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?



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.






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?