Lucky are those who experience the beauty of friendship growing with time, growing on themselves and eventually entwined so deep with the soul that it is difficult to separate them from your own identities. Friendship where you imbibe your friend's wisdom not by lectures but by their everyday action and choices, where you share the sort of craziness that at some point you thought is unique to you and yes where you feel home. So cheers to Friends turning to family !! @ Neha Barnwal . Yay! I am hell Lucky 😁

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तुमने देर की आने में
और मैं
शांत रही ,झल्लाहट से परे
आखिरकार
मैं समझदार हो गयी

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Happiness is realizing your little brother has grown up to a responsible individual :)

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तुम्हारा होना मेरे प्रेम की परिभाषा है

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The new weird

To just sit

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I was afraid to walk beyond fearing the doors may close behind me.....
But there were no doors

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Void

The void
Dug deep in
Pit of my belly
Woven across
Gaps of my fingers
Resting restlessly
On to my placid palms

/Poem in caption/

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A poet is, before anything else, a
person who is passionately in love
with language”
-W H Auden

Words and the beauty they emboss together after being woven sensibly makes me fall for them each time I stumble upon the treasure chest. People often wonder why some poets and writers use such difficult words while writing a piece, which makes their art vulnerable to misunderstanding and being not understood at all.
The above quote and my own love for words caused the epiphany that poets and writers may get so immersed in vividness of their thoughts that the expression itself becomes absolutely essential. And as a person in love, they do it in abundance by brushing strings of beautiful words on their pages not being bothered if they will be understood by all. As art is an expression of oneself above anything else.

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I quiver with the sheer anxiety , my soul trumpled with the colassal weight of my own thoughts, queries and unanswered questions. I look at her ,my eyes pleading for an answer that would quench my thrust , that would provide solace to the relentless mind. 

-/in caption/

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A walk heavy on flesh

As I pulled myself to walk forward, the heaviness grew inside me like moss which first surface on oblivious corners of dingy rooms and then swallow its creaky doors and windows ,who having long fogotten any humanly touch,proffer themsleves in entirety.The composite mass of steel, stone and soreness weighed much more as if gravitated by some force unknown to me yet so bewitching that my steps swirled, tempted to get smothered by it.


-/In caption/

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