കാലം തെറ്റി പെയ്ത മഴയാണ് നീ.
പ്രതീക്ഷകൾക്കൊന്നും പ്രസക്തിയില്ല.
അന്ന് നനഞ്ഞ മഴയുടെ ഓർമ്മക്കുളിരിൽ ജീവിക്കാം എന്നല്ലാതെ.

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The fog envelops the railway station,
and in the distance, a Tamil devotional
song softly echoes. I have no intention
of leaving; my fondness for this village
and its people runs deep.

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In the college cafeteria, he would
casually use her dupatta to wipe his
mouth, and on certain days, even her
shoulder, which truly bothered me.

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Her every action is like poetry.
During our group conversation, she
casually took out a ribbon from her
pocket, bit it, and then, with a few
words through gritted teeth. With
an elegant twist, she used the
ribbon to fashion her hair into a
captivating ponytail.

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My gallery

Her hands (56)
Her hair (112)
Her smile (234)
Her cry (146)
Her angry (248)
Her candid (356)

Bus window seat,
looking away from me (1)

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The distances we traveled,
entangled with our little
fingers, were poems that
only the moon could read.

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I can see that
both she and he
were active on
Instagram 35
minutes ago.

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In love's oasis, moments are
fleeting. We pause for a breath,
only to be swept back into the
relentless heat of the sands.

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Her beauty enhanced by the
pink shade, sometimes I prefer
that umbrella even more than her.
Lost in the moment, I stepped
into the road, oblivious to the rain.
I became drenched in the
downpour of love.

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Her words hung in the air,
'Give me one reason to stay,'
she said. I stood there, arms crossed,
my gaze fixed on my feet. I watched
as my tears fell silently, unnoticed by
her. when someone decides to leave,
we can't hold them back at any cost.
'Just go,'
I whispered, my voice heavy
with resignation.

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