Life isn't just one story.
It is a collection of many.
Some stories get published into books.
Some never written.

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You are the wallpaper of my unwritten thoughts.

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I've spent the entire day thinking it's a Sunday and you're not waiting for my call. Last few years, I have lived in the fear of Sunday 7 pm because that's when you would loose patience and call me, after waiting all day. I would try to finish all my chores before I call you because you, lady, you would not hear any excuses.
And today I have no such fear and yet, every time I looked at the clock since morning, I would have that fear sweep in and slide out, knowing you are not waiting anymore. It's a Sunday and you're not waiting for me anymore.

It's gonna take a lot of Sundays for this to seep in.

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There is many a splash and slip,
Between the heart and the pen's tip!

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You are mine
unwritten poetry.

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Stay Unwritten, Love! That's the way you are special! (Sourajita)

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My thoughts live inside you,
when you feel those unwritten pages left
in diary.

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Everyone knew you by
the poems you wrote;
She knew you by the
poem you didn't write.


That's how, love changes
the language of even the
unwritten poetries!

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So many emotions overflow,
That my pen is lost for words . .
Strange are the rules
of this world
Isn't it?
Everything is finished
in my mind about you,
and yet if unwritten,
They call it unfinished

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I'm an incomplete book
A few pages scribbled,unread
A few pages blank,unwritten
Will you be my reader,and turn
Into a writer to complete me!

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