Will it still matter if I arrive late?
When all the flowers have already wilted
And the sun is about to set
All the birds, tired, wanting to return home
And the daily chorus and its voices becoming faint
When the summer is over
And we welcomed winter rain
Will it matter if I woke up and decided to stay?

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No, I've not written poems or songs for you
You're discreetly hidden between verses and stanzas
Between words and melodies

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At the beginning of the monsoon,
a few years ago
On your two-wheeler
Serene, quiet and content amidst the chaos of the streets
noises everywhere, rush of the market
You seemed to have muted the whole world
and listened to some song deaf to my ears,
Maybe the tip-tap of rain
Your drenched clothes
Tiny eyes struggling to lookup
welcoming arms extended,
All embraced the piercing drops
Each made you smile a little more
As if the rain was for you
As if the world is for you
It was raining heavily that day
No passengers on journey,
Alas! they didn't know what a real journey is
With your joyful eyes
I relished the bliss of rain
Until the day I saw you one day,
I did not love rain as much as I do today.

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I glanced at the sky but did not stop to lookup
I touched the flowers but did not feel their gentleness
I walked fast in the giant green field when I wanted to run
I only extended my palms standing in the shade when I wanted to dance in the July rain
I loved in my heart but not showed
I heard stories but never listened
I dreamt too closely and did not live

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One day she crossed the limits,
Walked inside the mirror,
Brought out her reflection
Thunder roared loudest
It started to rain heavily
The drop pierced her skin
All the love exposed
As she dug deep
to bury the coffin.

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Where the heart reaches before you, sadness becomes inevitable.

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...and you're in love with depths, but fear drowning.

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You paused a few seconds before hanging up the phone.

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In someone's eyes
Behind some broken windows
In small congested valleys,
A mere helping hand in a nook bazaar
Someone's small secrets
A light in confining depths of the heart,
There's always hope,
somewhere residing in the chaotic crowd of misery.

-

She went in the enthralling scenery,
her eyes shined with the joy she witnessed,
What peace, what a contentment,
what artistry... Thought a beautiful soul herself,
who was able to feel the feeling,
who was able to capture and comprehend the profundity of nature.



Most people think they are loved because of the goodness or qualities that they have, not realizing the one who is filled with love to see love in them is even better.

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