A City of heartbreaks

My being is hanging out with the thought of being myself at almost all the times and the urge to be anything but me.Thought is an act of violence. The urge to be somethingbut me, is the violence against what I am. The urge  to be nowhere but near you. Is it possible for a

// ‘V’ sign of tears //

I see life unfold before me,Like a distant memoryin moments of perfect harmonyyou build your home in my chestrising from the pit of my stomach;And rush into my eyes before I know.World behind you is blurredI try to hold on to it,To a memory, to a moment, to you. And like any other dayyou ignore

The art of holding on

Holding on doesn’t always have to be about people or the stained memories, it’s more complex than what we know. I often leave my poems and pause midway to reminisce the fleeting moments, to find you there once again, which apparently has become my favourite thing to do.I always try to find my face there, try

Pain is pain

Every time you’re hurt, You keep coming, Your heart, is a heart, Others have machines, just running. I’m sick of these guess games, Haven’t you got any other to blame? Please, stop these claims, Your agony is a result of, your own flames. Kept pushing me, Whenever I offered help. Now, when you are drowning

Shield

I learned his past present desires to fly, The way he sounds when his demons cry. His scent, voice, fears, Love, was divine. I wanted to claim and make him mine. Under the moonlight, on heart’s call, I was ready to breakdown my heart’s wall. Everything was perfect and fine, until I came to know