Overhyped
-
Contributing Author.
Editor.
Heavily sarcastic.👿
High on music... read more
मुक्तिर्नैजसुखानुभूतिरमला भक्तिश्च तत्साधनम्
ह्यक्षादित्रितयं प्रमाणमखिलाम्नायैकवेद्यो हरिः॥
-
You write for attention.
I write for passion.
We're not the same bro.-
Crimson yellow hues
Streak the sky as the
Sun submerges
The day lulls while
The moon rises
The sweet smell of honeysuckle
Fragrant tuberoses
Reminds us that spring
Has not sheltered
But rather proclaimed
It's resilience
As life abounds.-
Love has it's own reflection
Love is quicksand, imagine
Doing a swift step on top of it
When you know you cannot be still.
Love is the Eiffel tower
That cast a spell in the wind
'Tis a wake up call
Love is the mix up
When tossed into a blanket of grin
This'll be my final thought of love
When I add it up
Love is the clearest picture.
P.S. READ IT AGAIN BACKWARDS.
-
I do not know how attractive
My flaws, weaknesses, imperfections
And scars really are.
But what I could tell you is that
These are my building blocks
That make me what I am and together
They would tell you one heck of a story.-
If I were to tell you what's on my mind,
Gathering myself - all the parts
Misplaced from various sources
The girl who ran barefoot
In gardens, hiding in her room
To be better than who she was;
Would you listen to me
Without judgement and prejudice?
Or will you prefer to leave
Like you always do?
-
Looking at the note pad, lying on the floor.
Writing this poem, you read on my wall.
Glaring at the clock has become such a bore.
Oh my, Oh my, it is well past four.
Thoughts of sleep, will rear its ugly head,
As the love of words come out of me like
Insomnia which robs me blind,
Most nights, as I lay in bed.
Closing my eyes, about to fall asleep.
Hooray! I'm drifting away, great.
Until sudden realisation hits me.
That the whole world,
is wide awake.-
There is none of the words
That can fill the emptiness
When I write about you.
It is always like a blank sheet
Not even a single drop of ink
On the scented papers.
And it does not need to be written
Because the heartbeat itself
Is already a rhythmic poem without words;
A harmonic music without lyrics.
It is just a drum you made
That rolls your name,
Deep within my shallowness.-