And there she stood waiting for the blizzard to enter her and freeze all the little moments running as blood cells between the bones and the skin. She stood with her arms wide open against the high winds shaking the sun behind the clouds, glimmering through the cracks almost questioning if the warmth could visit her ever again. Her fingertips were turning blue and skin had murals of time etched like a world map. She was strong in head and brave in the heart, unfazed and unwavering flambeau guiding the winds to her soul. That's only how she knew she could save the keeper in her and the believer in him. That's only how!

-

As if the stardusts were
generously laid under my feet,
and I heedlessly slip past the day,
ramming into the door of night;
floating a foot over the ground,
clenching my teeth and
stretching my arms
to find a balance in my body;
a body that's tirelessly fighting
to go with the gleaming flow,
much like a broke gambler
willing to place bets
on any odds of winning;
much like a powerless tippler
giving in to a quarter peg
left by a stranger in the bar;
Much like a fiddler running fingers
through the puffs of an undying cigar.

-

Maybe I was written
a little far along in a story
fated to eat dust on
your mahogany bookshelf -
The one you keep
for all the books
you'd never lend.
The one you turn to
when you know
no other way for
your heart to mend.

-

I'd make art of a dying world
if it promised it wouldn't ask for lives.
Then I'd cartridge my pen
with the colour of agony;
but I'd know no one has to grieve.
I'd fight with the finest of words
until the hell broke loose,
and never I'd worry to reinstate the wreck.
But here we are,
lying on the line of an unknown;
And I promise
I won't give up on love even if it badgers;
As love is all that entwines our souls
and lets us believe on earthly hopes.

-

He had no idea that the smile looking over the window of his Land Rover will shine brighter than the sunrays refracting from those glasses. Those tattered clothes with a pale stain, and chapped lips carving out an arch of glee, put his heart in his mouth. Those little hands extended, but wanted no penny, seeked no love. That content smile, that moment, spoke blizzards about life. And he, looked so incompetent dealing with this brief encounter at the traffic signal.

-

I wore my ghost on Sunday;
the night we partied in ombre lights
and tasted a glassful of tinsel
by the gold and bold.
We nibbled some cake behind the gate
and rested under the dim of stars;
Soon after, the crickets sang
ballad of an old-fashioned tea -
exactly when we decided
to empty the space
That's where I left my ghost
to stay until we rave again.

-

Let's steal words that we never said
and make them into a mixtape;
words that blended into the dusk
and spread its creeping roots
farther than we could ask.
A pot of low-key laughter
and untold complaints,
some oddly satisfying coffee cloud
that blurred your face.
I remember you winced at the
headlights honking our way;
but never missed to stop by
at that mingling, jingling fiddler's play.
How you loved was not like mine
for I have learnt to let in hard way.
May be where you lived,
loving was sold free all through the day.

-

You and I are ebbing;
and so is the sky that grew from us.
The makeshift sun is slipping
along the edge of your neck
to reach our dancing feet;
there we celebrate this living
one last time.

You and I are ebbing,
and your nonchalant eyes
kiss mine from distance.
For our skin is forbidden -
often thought to have embodied
callous indifference to suffering.

So here I pack all the dust and mist
before we finally cut loose;
as that's what we shall reduce to
when we tramp down
the fallen sun under our feet.

-

Like the dank moss
you grow on the rocks,
along the rivers and the fallen logs,
the tree barks escaping the sunny spots,
alluring weeds from the earthen pots.

Like the dank moss,
you grow on the rocks;
pounding in hearts like a cotton knot,
albeit believed a futile cause,
you're the cinnamon in their fireball shots.

-

who knows all the roads
that meet your heart.
Like a medieval atlas
with boundaries, and alleys,
and ruins, and valleys -
they flow like a warm gush
of river through your veins.
They carry your world
on their shoulders - tirelessly;
even when you're lost and stranded,
they come to find you.
They sail oceans to discover
that one place from where
the light enters you;
And are not afraid to tour
your hideous, dark cities either.

-