For eons we shall oscillate in hopes for a chance to meet --
Abstracted and ignorant of being phased out
in small and simple beats.

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A song of betrayal
(Read caption)

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After a while,
The misery ends
and so does your poetry,
In our story.

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//Oblivion

Who calls out my name?
In the darkest of nights,
A strange stiffness weighs the air.
The world sways in a standstill rhythm,
As I chase the unknown into an oblivion.

Who touches me in a playful way?
After all that is lost,
And everything ceases to be gay.
A shadow wanders around me,
Seducing me in an amusing way.

Who smells of those lovely lavender?
In this fragrance-free sphere,
The hell-hole, which I have been inured to call home.
Who dares to arouse,
The distant memory of my forgotten soul?

While I contemplate about the strangeness surrounding me,
A spine-chilling revelation halts me dead on the tracks.
I stretch out my palm into the blinding nothingness,
To grasp the bitter reality,
Of a wooden casket with my name hanging outside on a glittering plaque.

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A small part of me,
Loves her in silence.
Maybe, just like a sole leaf,
Which breaks away and touches the ground, silently,
I watch over her with the same intent and serenity.
Just like an old door, oiled to cease the bothersome creaking,
I stand alone, admiring her in tranquility.
The sound of a pin dropped on her posh carpet,
Is how much she tends to hear my heartbeat or for that matter, my heartbreak.

But these words would mean nothing to her,
For she has turned a blind eye, to my existence.
Yet I would love her on and on,
Even when time ceases to exist,
Suffering in silence.

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A writer traps words in a paper,
In an attempt to preach freedom
To the masses.

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I think people deal love in different currencies, much like real money and goods.
Someone who sells their goods for dollars won't accept your currency of Rupees. Similarly, somebody who loves in Euros has no value for your Dinar but a person who can accept Bolivares will always have something in return notwithstanding how much little amount you have. That's the beauty of love and currency. Each one is unique and supreme in their respective domains.

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Answer.
( Read in caption )

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The Eyes.

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"What is the closest star to the Earth?", the teacher asked the 8 year old.
"Proxima Centauri mam.", Julie replied.
"Then why did you write 'my dad'. Do you think the exam is a joke?", the teacher chided.

Apologetically, she bowed, turned and left the staff room without uttering a single word, leaving behind nothing but a single teardrop on the dry floor.

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