Today,
is because of yesterday.
And tomorrow,
depends on today.
But if yesterday keeps
becoming today
And today, tomorrow
Then how can tomorrow
be any different
Than today or yesterday?

-

I held it in my hand.
I pulled it
with all my strength
trying to separate
the two ends.
It was elastic,
it didn’t break.
All that tension
made my hand ache.
So I let it go
and it didn’t go
as I planned
and that’s how
I got hurt
by the rubber band.

-

Another few verses being typed and deleted
typed because the madness has to be let out
and deleted because the madness doesn’t want out.

Words after words written every single day,
pages, destroyed before they could see the light
all because my mind is engulfed by the eternal night.

This poem was to be destroyed but I’m typing it out
this catch-22 situation I am still figuring out,
I get it now, life is a paradox and the solution is to live it out.

-

Dreams and nightmares,
screams and scares,
fill my dim room
as the ghost stares.

It hovers near the ceiling,
giving me a creepy feeling,
as I try to exorcise it,
it just keeps laughing.

Each night is a competition,
between me and the ghost,
will I win and defeat it at last?
or will I be its permanent host?

-

The summer was not over,
yet the rains arrived early.
The day was not over,
yet the moon arrived early.

The orange evening sky
filled with dark clouds
was pouring torrents of rains
on tired, homeward bound crowds.

One among them, a lonely soul,
welcomed the rain more than the rest.
For they could cry and shed tears freely,
without worrying about becoming a jest!

-

I was done with this world completely,
ready to plunge myself into the darkness,
but little did I know that the world
wasn't done with me yet.

As I was getting accustomed to solitude,
and slowly being okay with loneliness,
you walked in with your sweet smile
and every idea I had of the future was up in the air.

Did you conspire with the world or against it?
For I know the sadist universe just wants to make me suffer.
Are you working with it to make its plans work?
Or are you here to save me from the distress?

-

When a smile is scraped,
when a tear is shed,
when a hope is crushed,
when a heart is broken,
when a dream is shattered,
when a friendship ends,
when the inner child cries,
when the first love dies,
that's when,
a poet is born.

-

the moment our lips met
with my closed eyes I saw
my whole life punctuated
with moments like these

-

I think back hard
trying to hold on
to the sense of hope
your presence
used to give me.

-

I sat all day and all night,
watching the waxing and waning sun,
watching the game of clouds and moon.

I sat, waiting for myself to write.
But my head remained empty.
The paper remained blank.
and I was out of hope.

So now as I write this I wonder
when I say I'm a poet, do I lie?
Or is it just a hopeless life?
Or is it just a hopeless world?

-