I don't write poetry to make someone's heart pound or to showcase it as a gesture of my innate feelings. Its just a way for me to pour the very emotions out of my heart, to engulf my words with love, binded in a piece of paper. Doing so not only makes me feel unburdened, but also overpowers my sanity, as the mundane life has already took a heavy toll on me. For me it forges an uncanny utopia, which becomes my source of rebound.

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Perhaps the dawn of our story is yet to come.
So in the meanwhile, let's just put our heart
into making someone else's a masterpiece.— % &

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Most of the times, it's just me and my thoughts having a little scuffle over
everything all at once. Like now...right now I'm thinking about why am i
typing it down?, why give my self trouble? Well.... i don't know actually, but
when i am alone in my head every major or minor adversity disappears for
a little while, so that i could grab a warm cup of coffee and have a little
chat by myself about me, my family, my friends, my non-existent lover, the
future me, the city I've never been, this planet, this galaxy, the entire
universe, and inadvertently gives me hope for a better tomorrow.

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They crave liberty,
yet they fear death.

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The way those rays of sun submerges itself in your
crimson red eyes along with your scintillating skin.
how the wind moves gently touching your hair being
affectionately overwhelmed.
the scent of your body entwined with juniper berries
and Mandarin leaves.
takes me aback by the improbable you in this grand
scheme of life.

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She is the surreal definition of serenity
A constellation of one kind forgotten deity
The embodiment of a million promises cherished
The embracement of hope for the lost.

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Things do last with the person who
fathoms the bond. One day a good friend
and on the another a complete stranger. It
doesn't always have to end this way like a
cliff at the end of a pavement. One day a
spiffing bloom and on the another a
withered wasteland.

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Tell me now, how you see the world? tell me how it feels every second of your life revolving around your desires rooted to the evil and the saint tangled in a never-ending dichotomy, does the air feels any indifferent. The animosity you held for yourself, has it escalated or the perception about it has changed by the influence of someone's pretentious delusional persona.

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Deception of words indeed led me a long way.
But instead of my envisioned prophecy, i saw
the fragment of my own retribution.

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There's no objection on believing the very
philosophical construct of human existence as
space dust. Our physical manifestation might
be but our inner thoughts stretch way beyond
the importance of any star.

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