Broadway called life

The play was real without any rehearsal,
some enjoyed their tragedies,
while others remained poker faced even in the joys.

Ones who thought they were hero,
broke down after realizing their role,
ones who thought they would own the stage,
had to make peace with a guest appearance.

No one actually knew when the backstage will recall them,
dialogues were going to be important,
but silence too had a role to play.

Some got variety of roles as long as they remained clay,
while the stubborn were played by the play.

All tried to bribe the script writer for an immortal fame,
but he kept changing the actors and stage remained the same

Poetry of touch

I will drive my poetry through your curves,
a bit above your skin,
a bit beneath your nerves

the way you bend,
the way you tilt,
covering you from end to end,
letting go all the guilt.

words will feel
as i feel you
i touch you
in places and ways
no one ever has,
through my words, spaces and commas
leaving my ink,
stealing your aromas

Time

It is rushing all around us. 
At traffic signals, in trains, in  disconnected calls, in seen but unanswered messages.
The only time we happen to slow it is the snooze button in alarms and reminders.
As if time whizzing past wasn't enough, we also see it running in circles on the breadth of wrist. Our eyes sort of chase those hands leaving the body and mind.


Couldn’t make out

Her eyes were closed, 
or bowed in grace

Her lips were sealed,
or playfully sleeping with each other,

Her curls were waving out to me,
or winds were building their home

Her expression was blooming with grace,
Or face was holding back the storm

Maybe she was everything pink and red could feed
or a different story you could never get to read