It was just yesterdayThat I wrote a poemto the early spring.Blooming flowers in my gardensoothe my heavy heart,every bud glowing green;Spring is a work of art. The hollow earthbeneath my feetis now as lively as a new born,Sometimes I feel I romanticisespring too muchbut, I am not willing to unlearn. It’s April now.It’s sowing in… Continue reading Beloved spring – Poem
Life is a dictionary of things.Most come and go.Some make us homeothers are at a distance,But none of them are lost.Like tears, they remain,always a part of us.With a few bold decisionsthey say“You can take anything you want.”But, what about the things thatdon’t belong to us?Is it ethical to run and cryfor things?Or do we… Continue reading Dictionary
My heart is a building/memories blow/like the wind/Seekers shall findhome in my bones/My skin shall alwaysrelive the moments here/even if I go blind/ I draw hearts/on the glass/that shelters dew drops/for love is all I know/And to embrace the pain/is no weakness/For You shall grow/only when You know/ In the hallways/wander hearts/romanticising pain/In the name… Continue reading My Poems
Centuries ago, during thecourse of evolution, humansbrought the whole speciestogether, on the base ofOne belief system; Religion.We thrived. They say nothing lastsforever; humans have this obsessionwith change,To know more, To be more. And now ( fast forward to ‘I’ )As ‘act of God’I see my country mouldingbeliefs of generations.God has now become a toolTo control… Continue reading Gods are dying in my country.
It’s raining almost every second day,and I’m learning to bloom from the earth,From life less branches to bed of dead leaves,something inside of me is telling me to know my worth. Sun is always shining over mountainsstill, there is this darkness in the woods,dripping down the lifeless branchesin a way only hope could. My mind… Continue reading Hope
Words feel on my skin like wildflowers and stay in my heart like the pretty snow, They steal my sky like the shinning stars Run in my blood wherever I go. I keep seeing them floating in my eyes they are the fresh scent in the winds that blow, For days I keep running towards… Continue reading Words.
You asked what I have to offer? Well nothing much. Few poetries, painted pots and your sketches on coffee dipped sheets. Weird music, witty remarks and book stores of nearby streets. Few jars of nutella, breakfast dates, And wind chimes on your gates. We both know I’m not going to stay. I promise not to… Continue reading Clichés