Cutting through the babble of Brook
the earth of jungle oozes out
suppresing squawk of Herons that
sit there supping in,

or turning off the rustle of
leaves that feeds and pitter-patter
of rain that pour in

or dismissing the croak of Frogs
and droning of Beetles around
that be there summing up in
symphony

A roar sits on the prey
from a distance far away
that I want to be if I were
a sound.

-

5:00 pm. I was sipping over a coffee in the balcony, where I'd spend most of my time watching you from up. I realized I haven't written anything since a week. Words seem to have evaporated the way your gardener self did. More than your face I'd stare at the way you pampered the yellow daffodils in your garden that I loved the most. Now you no more water them. I no more absorb it. I think it was fair enough to let myself nourish me.

-

If words had wings they
would have migrated
to the fluttering, agonized
silences.

-

You are around, the word web you have traps.
Sheer, snow capped mountains to deep seas everything's covered under your flaps.

Metaphors clung onto
your story hit me hard with rhymes.
Cries get lost in your personified wilderness, melodies revive with chimes.

Smilies tucked in your rare verses
get onerous to perceive.
I feel your lost imagery since
your poet asked me to retrieve.

You are a poem which
grows more beautiful everytime I read it.

-

// Time //

The leaves now are
below my feet.
Falling off the tree,
while kissing the dust
of the ground,
no one did notice them.

(Full poem in Caption)

-

You try to look bonny
and stop being conny
under pushes and pulls
by exemplary beauty.

You try to dive in love
not knowing how to come above
to follow a fad
set up by their boundaries.

You try to dream fixed
and end up being unfixed
by created mirages
of their deserts

Each time you fail
by chasing their trail
because the Society is fickle.
But remember,
your Soul is eternal.

-

include finding unheard, unseen and unfelt by getting lost.

-

You often need to go deeper
to find what you want,
that's how I discovered my
poetry in his dimples.

-

Last night, I killed it

(Caption)

-

The moon whisper
to my musings to
keep words awake.

-