In search of

Amid the fast-paced times,forgetful memories and too many choices, I still search for...

a handwritten poetry in the world of typed ones,

a personal call in the world of whatsapp messages,

a conversation about life in the world of peppered gossips,

a shout of familiar voice in the world of half-hearted smiles.



Blindspots

Sometimes there is no plan in place,no goal in sight,
but the journey has to go on.

Sometimes there is no check in place, no one to say right or wrong,
but the job has to be done.

Sometimes there is no outlet to the emotion,no proof of even its existence,
but the shaken heart has to be balmed.

Sometimes there is no shoulder to cry on, no place to hide tears,
but the tides have to be emptied.

Morning tales

Sun climbs up the sky,
Darkness goes to sleep,
Amid the change in their shifts,
Calender date takes a flip.

A body wakes up from the bed,
Keeping dreams and fantasies back in a drawer of mind,
A new day is like another chance,
Leaving all disappointments and misses behind.

Hot coffee rises in the cup,
To drown in the throat,
Body hopes to reach a different place,
While getting ready to sail in the same boat.




Folded page

Life had some moments where heart was in dilemma,

whether to pump-up in rage
or
to skip the beat,

whether to rush through the emotions
or
pause to repeat,

whether to break open the chest
or
bury it deep.



But i decided not to tear the page then,

and orphan the story of an infant emotion.


Just left it blank and folded,

in the arms of unfinished story,

which is still unfolding with every passing heartbeat,

with a hope that ink will mature one day,

just enough to let the folded page bloom into an answer,

heart felt for but couldn't seek.

Imagine

Can imagine you taking bite of the cake,
with cream left on the lips

Can imagine you shaking a leg to good music,
with song being sung between the hips

Can imagine you leaning on the sofa,
with your curves revealing the secrets your silence keeps

Can imagine you getting inked (tattooed) by me on the inner thigh,
with my hands going deeper to give you a high

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