There's rich. There's poor.
And in between them, there hangs a middle-class.
Like that narrow lane between two mountains, they exist. Although they sum upto a lot proportion of entire human race. But there's a lot much not being done fair with them. A little here and there in any of the mountain, they get submerged and forced to "help" out the other so stated - "needy" or "charity" with the "equal" moretheless class.

No proper action, no legal help, no medical efforts, no free food, no bed without slogging.

They're always ignored. In all this frustration, if any thing that middle class man does is succumb to his own dreams to fulfil his family's need. Chokes on his humility to own a pride in the society.

-

Was I wrong to feel
that there was more to us
than drunken nights
lost under the stars
More than secrets kept
and stolen kisses
in godforsaken places
More than the thrill of a game
we knew too well how to play?
Am I wrong to feel
we could be so much more
than what we were?

-

It's in the words we do not say
.
In the soft silence from my skin to your soul
And in the deep silence from your doubts to my tears
It's in the long silence of the night, unfolding around mingled dreams
And in the swift silence of dawn, brushing over tangled memories
It's in the sour silence of the goodbyes that loom over our shoulders
Overtaking us slowly
And in the sweet silence of the untouched morning light
Waiting to be seized
.
It is there, in the fierce silence of the words we cannot say
That our stories unfold
Inexorably

-

We grew up too fast
searching for love instead of
playing hide and seek,
carrying the entire world's weight
when we can barely carry
our own.

-

There is you
and then there is wanting.
And this is not about you anymore, it will never be.
This is about the way that longing and
the contentedness can be in the same room,
without trying to claw at each other's throats.
All blunt teeth and curling lips but no bite.
Not anymore, now that I could just pick up the phone and call you,
saying things like,
What part of saying my name out loud kills you now?
Is it the way it will come out and mean nothing anymore,
or is it the way it will come out and still mean everything to you?

-

Perhaps we are all
caged birds searching for
a sky where we can
finally be free

-

Midnight fires have run out,
our eyes carry their embers
into the cold light of the day.
Their warmth is a ghost that haunts us
in the spaces between the hours.
It burns only on the inside
long after nothing is left of the spark
that drowned the night.

-

Did you think I was a city
big enough for a weekend getaway?
I am the town surrounding it,
the one you've never heard of
but always pass through.
There are no neon lights here,
no skyscapers or statues;
But there is thunder
for I make bridges tremble.
I am not street meat, I am homemade jam
thick enough to cut the sweetest
thing your lips will touch.
I am not police sirens,
I am the crackle of a fireplace;
I'd burn you and you still
couldn't take your eyes off of me,
I am not a hotel room, I am home.
I am not the whiskey you want,
I am the water you need.
Don't come here with expectations
and try to make a vacation out of me.

-

"A Letter to my Words"

Thanks for coming to me with ease
for letting me decide my pace
for holding me back when memories fade
and for confronting me in situations of betray.

I am stranded by my own thoughts
but you rescue me in this game
where emotions and sensations are mere foul play.

You're my knight
who guards me
against my own frights.

You know me well
and it's your heart
where my poetry dwells.

Promise to stay with me forever,
when the moon yawns
till the sun sleeps.

I sleep with you in my dreams
and wake up with new poetry.

You fill colors in my darkened nights
and shower on to me your bright daylight.

Thanks for coming to me with ease
for letting me decide my pace
for holding me back when memories fade.

-

She was poetry
I'm a mere poet.

-