I am going to paint a wall in my home
with pure white, a helm of a darker shade
for a tinge of silence, to glitter the things grown fade
come join me, and I will help you paint yours

I am going to put a mirror on that wall
So I can stare myself in the eyes for long
stare out the good in me, stare out what is wrong
come join me, and I will help you put yours.


The strands of love

In her eyes tonight
I saw so much love
Anticipations, expectations
Snoring from her mind

Her smile whispers to me
Her speech
That accent of vast blue
Swallowing my pride

She is fire
Like I am water
We need each other to be relevant

Your words taste like wine to me
Time is a memory
Of who we are
What we have been

There is no perfect tomorrow
but a thousand perfect yesterdays
We should rejoice, cackle
for we have been tied together
with the same strands of life.

Reincarnation of a Poet

You have lost your touch
You have lost your glaze
Poetry my love, what I seek in you
Canst be seeketh

I am a lost virtue of words
same old metaphors
economy of words
casual verbal lavishness

In me, words no longer rear
a strange thirst
still lurks
the water
to my soul

The desire for metre
dull as the grave
Of the same old metaphysicality

In world’s wisdom
I breathe chaos
The ink vanishes
Smitten to lonely phrases

The art must rise
It is too important to be left
for rotting

Over burdened silence
From the Ash of life
A spark must be found
To set ablaze
The syntax of a poet’s debt

Rendition of beauty

I am a lover under the stars
I dream at day and night
I live in total reminiscence
of what never trully occurs.

I know what truths thrive under the mattesses
of this fragile world
It is too frail for me
at times
Don’t you think?

You know a bit of me now
My patterns, my customs
My ways of living life
Not the grandest, not glamorous

I fight for every penny
because I was born poor
I never had much money or love
or skies calling my name at night
I never had an accent of success

I walked endless doubts
in my head, in my heart
I know what I am made of
I know what I can breathe.

I was sewed with wind,
I have been moulded by fire,
bolstered by sand
I have turned myself into water

I search for purity
I search for the sense of satiation
And in you I find a bit of it
A bit of it, every time you smile
or when your voice reaches my senses

A bit of it everytime
I lay eyes on you
everytime I feel the presence,
the precious spirit that illumes my soul

You entered me in thoughts
from our lonely nights
We drank happines and fell in love
Our heartbeats’ surged to a perfect communion

I am dazed, floating since
you have poured me a glass of love
I haven’t felt sobriety
since your charms have kept me glazed

I don’t like answering the questions
about your beauty
Because I am afraid
I might run out of words
metaphors, synonyms, vocaboulary

That I might not be able to accomodate
All I have for you
in poetry, songs, rhythms of nature,
in symbols and signals,
And in all possible ways.



Love me like…

Love me as if
the roses bloom out my name
Love me
As if the Rain is falling down from heaven
Kissing every fragment of my soul

Love me like how
the stars love the night
Like how the moon complements the sun
Love me like my songs
how they have the metre of your name

Love me with all your heart
Don’t hold back
Even an inch of your passion
Don’t hold back your spirit

Amalgamate it with my thoughts for you
And I will write poems
Like nobody has ever written before
I will tell you how the flowers are born
How love is the sweetest fragrance of the soul.

Love me like how a kid loves the mother
Or how the mother loves the kid
Love me like
How the sun loves the earth
How he rises up every morning to kiss her

Love me like how I love you
How I have loved your heart and soul
How I have loved your body
Your eyes, your ears, your nose
Your hair
Love me like I have loved your
Voice, your words, your gait

Love me like you love yourself
Maybe even more
And only then would you be able
to read my verses, in truer sense.

You would know then
How every word has been
Carved out of my existence
With atmost care.

You would know how
Every metaphor has been
Brought to life
With your beauty and my pen
Working in unison.

Image Source –


I received a letter from your town
with the envelope of self-sufficiency
I couldn’t dare to open it
The stamp of your fragrance spoke
louder than what I could hear.

Your words, your letters
your hieroglyphic text
your vocabulary that I couldn’t catalogue
Your theories that were far beyond my grasp.

For the love that never lasted
and I wanted to enchant you at any cost
flickering fiercely like a burning star.

You explained to me about every cell
every tissue, every organism
and the world’s need to reproduce.
You divided Philosophy by biology.

You taught me how free will is
just an electromagnetic phenomenon
And how our nerves are mere conductors
Your so called modern thinking
wrecked my archaic self.

And how you framed the equations
fitting in the emotions
into a cost-profit formula
I remember it all too well.

I tried to change your mind
I tried to change your heart
I wrote endless rhymes for you,
forging innumerous metaphors.

But I could not reach you across
Distances or time, across the climes
I couldn’t cross the bridge of thoughts
that seprated us.
In darkest of nights, in lonely terror
I leapt for you but couldn’t hold on.

I woke to find my life had bled
Uncertainty and too much cowardice
I opened up the letter from my soul
to find my spirited parts had turned to ashes
and I felt you by your energy.

I was abandoned, brittle, and deformed
but I knew you existed somewhere
you thrived and blossomed
like only you could
My morality died a painful death
and I could not find solace.

Your dreams speak to me

Your dreams speak to me
Like the whisper of the night
Soft, fragile yet extant,
With the authority of the dark.

They tell me your name
They scream your perfection
Mirroring my truth in yours
Emulating the strand that tethers us.

They hold my heart
In their haling palms
They paint it with your hues
Infusing your splendor
Into my spirited parts.

The night shimmers
Pushing my feigned pride aside
I am humble before the stars
They are my hope wrapped in eternity

Your dreams speak to me
Your memories, they gleam
Leaving a sparkle in my eyes
I am exalted, glorified
Blissfully content with these whispers of the night.

Paint Me

I am an old soul
My spirit is of the land and water
And fire and air
The fresh breeze of my fatherland

I am soft at core
Encapsulated in coarse body
Rugged looks
Hoping to be a muse to someone

So paint me like I am poetry
And like other artistic forms
Put your imagination into me

Paint my scars
Don’t cover them up with those
Brush strokes of your calmness
Instead heal them
With your colours of wildness

Paint me like I am a metaphor
Lost in the ocean of your depth
Smiling at whatever little joy
Is thrown at me.

Put shadows and flames
Where my essence needs a spark
Blend me with the pastels
Of hues that illuminate
My purest parts.

Brighten me with the light
With your artistic precision
Paint my body, my soul
My spirited bits divine
Paint me with such sublimity
Making me the best piece of your art.

I’ll get to it tomorrow

I haven’t had a drink in a while
Haven’t finished the poem I started last week
Haven’t called back to the person whose call I missed
I think I’ll get to it tomorrow

Haven’t sent the email I was supposed to send yesterday
Haven’t checked my Mail Box for a while
Haven’t trimmed my beard
Haven’t yet started the Novel that I have dreamt writing 

The kitchen floor stinks
Haven’t done no cleaning in a while
Haven’t bathed the body nor the soul
May be I’ll get to it tomorrow.

I haven’t thought about my future
Haven’t been learning from the past
Haven’t paid my bills
Haven’t brought the groceries I so dearly need
Maybe I will get to it tomorrow.

Haven’t felt sorry for the mistakes I have made
Haven’t apologised to the people I offended
Haven’t thanked the girl who complimented my looks
Maybe I will get to it tomorrow

I haven’t prayed for the things I want
Haven’t been gracious for the things I have
Haven’t dreamt, haven’t imagined a single thing
Maybe I will get to it tomorrow

Wanted to abuse the guy who called me procastinator
Haven’t come up with the right words yet
Wanted to go for a trip somewhere
Haven’t Figured out the place i want to go
Maybe I will get to it tomorrow

Haven’t talked to my best friends
Haven’t been social in a while
I want to go out and have some fun
Haven’t been able to leave my bed
I will get to it tomorrow

I will get to it tomorrow
I promise myself
But oh the promises I made myself before
Haven’t given them a thought in a while
I will get to them surely by tomorrow

I wanted to use some rhyme scheme in this poem
Wanted to give it a lyrical flow
Couldn’t synchronise my thoughts with my pen
Maybe I will get to it tomorrow.

As the slow servile past
Creeps on our backs
I will speak a tale or two
Some hopeless narrative that shoots
Some fervor into our spirits

Your timidness won’t have a place
It will swing like a pendulum
In between those raspy notes
Of self sufficiency.

And as the dust of your soul
Will settle down on your pride
You will honk at me
Call me with the names,
Metaphors and analogies that
You so dearly etched onto me

You may shout my name
Like a rhyme that has been
Recited too often
That the heart knows the joy,
The muscle memory
The motility of perfect synchronization

I will be summoned
I will be remembered
For my skills with your brain
For my familiarity with your heart.

And maybe not that long ago
I might have seen myself there
I might have shouted your name a few times
But not today
Not now
Not when you have sold your soul
To better prospects
To a better life.

You won’t be a discarded letter
Or a Song that doesn’t have no singers no more
But a Poem, a verse
Left forever between two pages
Of a book.