Love makes you a good writer,
Pain makes you a greater one.

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Your sleepless nights,
Are under your eyes.
The darker it gets,
That deeper your skies.

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I want to wander,
along with the stars,
across the lengths of the sky,
But I'm trapped within the beauty
of this world,
I can't spread my wings to fly.

Can I long for the moon?
Living by the sea of crowded city lights,
I'm in this place right now
Where you won't even know I'm there,
even if I'm right there in your sight.— % &— % &

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I want to wander,
along with the stars,
across the lengths of the sky,
But I'm trapped within the beauty
of this world,
I can't spread my wings to fly.

Can I long for the moon?
Living by the sea of crowded city lights,
I'm in this place right now
Where you won't even know I'm there,
even if I'm right there in your sight.— % &— % &

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You're smile is enough to make me fall,
Not only me, even the stars above.

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The sky is in your face,
Pouring rain through your eyes.
A rainbow covers your cheeks,
I feel your warmth within my hands!
-Raghavendra Laxman

Sweet winds from beyond,
Bring news too divine.
Billowing your tresses,
Even cupid be damned.
-John Adarsh Joshua— % &

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I'm glad to be under the same sky as you are & breath the same air you do.
But I'm more happy as your heart beats the same way as mine when you look at me.— % &

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She laughed.
For once, the cloud casted on her face lifted, giving way to that beautiful shine. And I could feel it lifting me along. But it only lasted for a moment — she seemed to remember herself soon enough, and the clouds once again gathered in the sky.


— % &“Why?” I asked her. Why wouldn’t she let herself laugh? It was so beautiful…
— % &But she just shook her head slowly, guilt flashed in her eyes. “I… it’s just not proper,” that was all she said.

Not proper? I couldn’t understand it. Why would it be improper for her to laugh?

Just then two clouds crashed nearby bringing with them a huge jolt of thunderbolt waking me up from my sleep...
— % &

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When you meet me next time
And I'm out of words to talk
Teach me how to be a poem— % &

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Fate is barely kind to sinners,
it's rarely kind to saints.

It's never kind to those,
who exist in-between.— % &— % &

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