Worth another biscuit following after you
when you drown
even at the risk of both of you
dissolving completely.

-

the last slice of bread
mouldy and stale
that you arrive at
after finishing the loaf
impatient
to finish the packet
and clear your shelf.

-

I fell on him
like a stray feather from a wing
swirling in the air,
aimlessly
until I landed on his shoulder
and I stared at him
from the corner of my eye
hoping he would spare a glance my way
but he never turned to look
for I was weightless
and he was light
and when his eyes did fall on me
his rough hands
didn't brush me off
like unwanted dirt
He picked me up
with his clumsy fingers
ever so delicate then
and put me down
gently
on a tiny stream
that reflected the sky.

-

She wondered, what could be worse, than not being able to grieve for the death of a love? What could be worse, than forgetting a person over distance, and not even having a memory to grieve over? What could be worse, than not being able to cry, when your heart was tearing apart, and all because the person was forgotten, and only and only love had remained.

-

Grief is a shadow.
It shines in all it's glory
when you try to bask in sunlight.
A back patch pooled at your feet,
it becomes one with darkness itself.
So clever, so deft.
You barely know it's there.
And yet
when you're numb
and almost afloat
three centimeters above from the ground
it pulls you back
And thrashes you onto the ground
And you either choose to wake up
Or choose an eternal dream to dream of.

-

Her silence was like an autumn leaf-
shrivelled, dead, fallen
and yet
screamed the loudest
when stepped on.

Even dead, she could be broken
And so the world got away scot free
saying that they'd never killed
and only planted a wrong step.

-

I will miss my Midnights of poems, my late night thought bazaars, my tiny letters, my muses musing, the postman delivering surprises, hashtags becoming a new language, comments becoming stories, my heart going thump when a favourite writer liked my writing, highlights no longer remaining neon marks on textbooks, crimson no longer a sunset colour but my favorite font, statuses no more random videos but quirky puns, money no longer a crumpled piece of paper but a bouquet or a rose.

These were my little incentives, to not give up. To keep going. And I know that even if I feel like I have been shattered into countless pieces and that the world will keep moving and I will have to, I know that a part of me will stop. I will become a memory so that I can remember every detail and savour every second of this journey. I will not forget. Ever.

-

To let go of the vision if need be,
And to yet hold on, to the memory.

-

A beautiful prose
is what we are
while alive,
and Poetry is what
is left of us
after we die.

-

The wind carried the dust, all round the world

and yet when the wind ceased, on the wet earth, she quietly settled.

-