break free
and form its own identity..
against the gazillions
other little lanterns
of the night sky.
A comet takes birth.
'Guess stars
are no diffrent
than us.

-

The wrong one
is the right one
to lead you to
the best one.

-

Feminism is to be considered as a human first.

-

Belong to me
as the rain belongs to the soil.

-

Deep emotions slither inside me . .
Vitriolic Black Mambas
tightening their grip around my heart,
spewing their causticity.
I am in this fathomless abyss again,
sowing forget-me-nots and dreamy daisies..
that try to lift up my spirits.
I have everything to stand up,
and fly away like a phoenix..
But why do I not . .?

-

I promise to come back to you when
all our duties
to this worldly souls
slither away taciturnly.
When the silence twixt us
quietens down
with our heartbeat.

And then, perhaps . .
I would reveal my soul to you
so you could see,
what you wished
and what you missed
in love.

May you recount how you missed me..
And this time I would ask you to seek me,
in the labyrinth of souls.
For once to be seeked
And be not the one seeking..
Peace, Passion, Love and Revenge
will be my guests,
dancing in synchronicity.

-

O forsaken you!
Pity thy penury.
For everywhere you glance by
Red petals fall from the sky.
O forsaken you!
Pity thy envy..
the deepest known to man
for the evil paradox that's love.

-

Parents:
No amount of life you have ever lived with them,
will at any time satisfy you in their absence.

-

In the hush of a summer drizzle's fall,
Whispers of rain, a gentle call.
Softly it kisses the thirsty ground,
A symphony of nature's sweet sound.

Each droplet a gem, a fleeting delight,
Dancing on leaves in the fading light.
Cool relief in the warm, muggy air,
Nature's soft touch, beyond compare.

The world bathed in a shimmering sheen,
A fleeting moment, serene and clean.
Petrichor rises, a scent so divine,
A fragrance of earth, a moment so fine.

Summer drizzle, a fleeting grace,
A tender touch on our upturned face.
In its quiet, subtle embrace,
Nature's beauty, we can trace.

-

Beauty is a fragile thing,
Like a delicate flower's wing.
It dances in the gentle breeze,
And leaves a lasting impression, please.

With each stroke of ink on the page,
A letter is formed, a timeless sage.
It speaks of love, and joy, and pain,
And tells the story of beauty again.

The ink that flows, so dark and deep,
Brings to life each word we keep.
And in this fragile work of art,
We see the beauty of the heart.

So let us write each letter with care,
For beauty is a gift to share.
And may our words forever show,
The fragile beauty that we know.

-