“Kiss that made me a smoker”

"The doors to our souls opened up,
Through our first long wet kiss.
That was the day on which
I kissed my fantasy for the first time.

For me, A girl with a cigarette,
Is always sexier than a naked one.
If people can love the smell of petrol,
Why can't I fantasize a smoking girl?

I was never a smoker before that kiss,
Though I loved the idea of smoking.
And given it a try two-three times,
Only to quit for the taste it left behind.

When my taste buds met,
Her smoky tongue very the first time.
She tasted like barbeque hot sauce,
With a Woody flavour yet little sweet.

The day we had our first kiss,
I fell in love with her and cigarettes.
Matter of fact, We kissed,
and there was ""Happily Smoked thereafter"".

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“Long Wet Kiss”

The doors to their souls opened up to each other through that long wet kiss.

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She kills me Little by Little


"She kills me with her love ever since we are married, but I'm still alive.

PS:- Let her keep killing me till I attain natural death.

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Lost myself by losing you

What I have lost is not you,
I have lost myself by losing you.
What looked like a future with you,
Has now become a DREAM without you.

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“Dad’s new writing table”

"Dad said smilingly ""Go upstairs and see my new writing table"". I was coming home for the first time after two months. I was all excited to see from where did dad write those beautiful stories which were published last month.

I was really shocked to see the ironing board in front of cushioned chair he usually uses.

He had converted the ironing board into his writing table!!!!

I was laughing my heart out and by then, he came from behind and said " Now that I have retired and don't have to go to office, this ironing board is all free to surf along with my thoughts"

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“Irony of Indian Poets”


He started writing poems in English after seeing his parents enjoy reading those poems in their native language.

After ten years of writing poems, the realisation of they don't get what he writes is saddening. They do understand English but they don't find the beauty of words the way they get it their native language . What he writes, is all in English and he doesn't know how to frame his words in his native language. He even wonders, if he could learn that art one day, would he able to express his feelings and create the magic like his English poems.

This feeling might be same with the new generation Indian Poets writing poems only in English.

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I joined Facebook
Around ten years back
With that, found few lost friends
And also went on few dates

I was faithful to my account
Like that I was to Orkut
I kept scrolling my page up and down
Every-time, expect from dusk to dawn

Then one day I got bored of it
And joined Instagram to transit
Pics of mine with my ex became a hit
Loved those Red Heart over Blue Fist

One fine day when I found
Pic of my Ex with her new Boyfriend
That night I deactivated my account
Only to feel the redemption found

Then came the mighty Twitter
I started barking with limited words
Kept retweeting the good ones
But my thoughts were beyond 140 characters

And then finally I joined Your Quote
Only to delete above three
Now, I literally live here on YQ
With Yellow hearts pumping my heart

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“Vulnerability in a Relationship”


You are vulnerable in a relationship as long as you love the other person more than yourself

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Primary School Love

After they exchanged their love letters in a pencil box outside her class, she stepped into class V 'B' and he went back to class III 'C'

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“ I was never with him”

A recently married Indian couple reaches Los Angles for honeymoon. After the immigration, they moved to the taxi stand. When the taxi arrived, husband kept his luggage into the cab, she kept standing next to the cab with her luggage. With the sound of the horn from the cabs waiting behind theirs, the cab driver shouted to the her "Lady, Please make it Fast"".

And then she loudly said over the noises of horn, to the cab driver

"" I was never with him""

And with that , she attained Liberation.

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