When I say
" #metoo"


They say
"so what?"

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Is love
The easiest answer to all the pain
Or is love
The hardest pain to be questioned

I know not
All I know is that
Love and pain are like
Words and spaces

One precedes and succeeds the other
Completing anything and everything
That could ever make
Any sense

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in extending benevolence
and service to the world.
They exist and aid all existence.
Something that makes them the providers, the bestowers and the godsends.
And to me to be that is absolutely precious.
Something that I am going to try
and hopefully die doing.

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The days
That don't feel that bright
The very days
When I can't get the words right
Are the days
On which, my thoughts paint a new sight
And on such days
I get to re-believe a little more in my persistent might

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Walking with people
Who make you feel lonely

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Nor did songs,
If paintings didn't breathe,
Or no art that one longs,
I would still be seeing you,
Being and bringing the art,
In times and places lost to perish,
There would yet be love in my heart.

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We have all been
Broken alike
But our pieces
Are mended all distinct

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What if.I taste.Of sins

Would you.Still be.This pure.For me



I bare.To you.And you.Pernennial, immortal

Would you.Be my Ganga.love?

-

if you've ever loved
you would know
what sweet poisons
taste exactly like

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कौनो दिन
जब हम भोरे
आपन बिछवना छोड़ीं
तऽ हमरा इ बात के तसल्ली रहे
कि बीतल राति के
कौनो लइका के साथे
केहु कुछु बाउर ना कइलख

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