The fish on the land

I sigh
He smiles
I focus on the words in my ear
And the one on his lips
They sync with the notes in my thoughts
He passes across me
And my eyes gaze on the road
Short but deep
Narrow but holding so much
Few red fabrics
Few window shopped heels and songs
Few bald heads and few shades other than black
Few racing with the leaves on the road
Few trying to compete with the pace of the snail
And I manage to find you
Few things never get lost

As in the habit of writing
I open my dairy
And pledge to write all beyond you
Those silent lips seem more beautiful than the choas in the head
He looks more hot in the payjamas than the loose denims and slim fit legs
Their fights are more adorable than ours
They fight for existence
And reasons why we fight, we ourselves are dumb to it.
I try to pen about the roll in my hand
But the mayonnaise drips of it
Writting for itself
Unable to ink any bit of it
In rhymes and Shakespeare words
I close the dairy
Pluck the Daisy along my side
And try to sketch it's borders,lines and life

Not always should love be subjected to seperation
But I pluck the daisy to find my smile
But I pluck it to ask it to live it's death along my life
And I ask him to leave for me to breathe
And for a happy ending of a story that has no start

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The shying words

How do you believe the moon isn't whispering your stories to someone aren't the chance of him whispering it to some writer high May be one of the reasons why you related to the story yesterday on Netflix May be that's how your crushes end up in your favorite color today May be that's how you cleared the interview today How do you know the moon isn't working on his script with your lines If you can believe someone that far How do we end up doubting the skin and flesh besides and around us If we don't hold expectations and grudges when it comes to him Why wonder for years over a message that din come through I don't understand how we whisper our secrets to the mountains and the sea but fear of losing them against the people we breathe with How do we trust the living forms breathing without the flesh over the living we can touch and feel How do I trust the paper with my words and strangers with my smiles With every question I pen I end of writing hope, belief, ...

Meeting a boy

I ask mom can I go out with him, she says no in blocks caps and everything to make it loud enough So that I don't try to convince her I ask mom if I can go out with her As first like always she says no, but after 2 or 3 attempts She is fine with the plan I wonder what is the difference May be she thinks The she I would be hanging out with Won't hug me Or kiss me Or put her arms around my waist Or on the shoulders Or come close enough to increase my heart beat Or hold my hands and walk around Or bring me flowers and chocolates and gifts Or take me on a dinner date Or for lunch Or for a date just with a cup of tea and lots of eye to eye talking and so much of silence But we will be together all this while But aren't there chance of me falling for a girl But aren't there chance of the boy not liking me and just coming to say hi and a bye And everything in between it will be about the job and family we both are living with in those four walls...

Fears, are real!

All the fears are real People falling While walking While dancing While just standing still While looking at someone Failing In the exams With the expectations Of yours And your loved once And the strangers Growing In love Out of love Getting old With lessons With scars With open wounds Being stuck On page for hours and weeks In life for years and years With people till the end In thoughts of your own and the others too. With a blank full of ink but still not working Many others like People giving up on you People not fighting for you You not able to find the old you You missing yourself While you stand before the mirror With blank thoughts Like standing in a room On your own shadow Everyday at certain hour of the day All that you fear is happening is someday We just need to breathe through it Crying, yelling, laughing or just sitting through it Or just walking past it.

Blissfully inhaled and exhaled

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