Through the lights of sky

I saw the colour of his eyes

With hues of grey

Rose the scariest storm of mighty dusk

Speck of moon rising in those eyes

Beholding a warning of ruthless love

And I saw it all

I saw how it was possible

To get so lost in those wicked eyes

Poetry, Quill

A Seed of Love

A seed of love planted deep in the heart
Its roots steadily seizing the entire part.

The first leaf arose with a new beat
Short, soft and sweet.

The first bud arrived with the first titter
Introducing to a being, as sparkly as glitter.

And as the bud bloomed, so did the soul
Begetting a new whole.

I was born this way
I was born of love
And you,
Were too.


Disenchanted Disgrace

What vigour remains,
In an ever motive world,
When metal mammoths,
Are reduced to cars,
And swing sets rust,
Under the sun,
When the enchanted eyes,
Of a curious child,
Are reduced to an adult’s,
Tired little gaze,
When birds flying by,
Aren’t magical,
What a useless,
Disenchanted disgrace.


A Breath of Fresh Air

Strange. The air smells different today,
Fresh, unruffled and without a trace of dismay.

Brimful, of this zephyr, I inbreathed mirth,
One divine breath, of plenty worth.

Drenched, I am, in this tranquil breeze,
And so immensely packed with elation that I wish time’d freeze.



“My son, just 5,

Fell from his bike,

And started to scream,

One less pearly white.

I gathered him up,

In my arms and cooed,

There there, my child,

Tis’ but a small wound.

And it struck me, how soon,

He’d be strong, now 18,

And heartbroken,

He’d want to cry.

But they’ll call him weak,

Won’t let him whine,

Overtime, he’ll learn,

How to fake a smile.

So I tell him now,

What he’ll hear all his life,

As I keep on telling,

My inner child,

There there, its okay,

You’re a husky big strong boy,

And I hurt myself, 

When I say these words,

It’s okay, strong boys do not cry.”

Poetry, Quill

The Perils of Forever

Its promise enchants us

And assuages our sore hearts

For a yearn to seek solace

Asked, to catch hold of this place

We flit, to seize it

And, to its eternalness we submit.

Even after,

Having known its legacy

We often neglect its tendency

To not exist.

And anew the inevitable never

Triumphs over the non existent forever

Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix

Part 3

Once in a while, you lose your vision and gain something far more important.

You gain the sight to see the galaxies that cover up your skin, that speak highly of how much you need to care about yourself, of how often you need to see yourself and remind yourself that you are enough.

The scent of the colours that damage your skin doesn’t define you, it guides you.

It guides you through a journey that is worth a billion years of darkness just to realize the importance of light.

The journey ends when you find your scent, when you don’t need to see galaxies in your body to know you are extraordinary.

It ends when you know you are extraordinary.

And just like that, you kiss your wounds and thank your crazed up mind for creating something so harmful that it cures because damage sure does bring happiness, doesn’t it?



When my words fall apart,
When you witness utter silence,
When my syllables crumble before your eyes,

Remind me, To hold you.
Because you know, in order to love you,
I need to touch you; Slow.
Like clouds floating in clear blue sky,

And when I love you,
I will stroke your hair,
Trace your eyebrows,
Outline your lips,
Brush your fingers against mine.
Just so you know,
I love better when I’m close to you.

And if I love you,
I’ll make sure you know,
What it means for me
To have your warm fingers touch my cheeks,
Watch you sing,
Listen to your slow breaths when you sleep.

Because you know, in order to love you,
I need to touch you; Slow.
Like clouds floating in clear blue sky,

Poetry, Quill

From Oblivion

Awake that night
I could hear my heart, beat
Awake that night
I could see my dreams, betide
Awake that night
I could feel my spirit, await

That night was what, I was.

Awake tonight
I can feel my heart’s, glee
Awake tonight
I can see my dream, become a reality
Awake tonight
I can hear my spirit’s, revelry

Tonight is what, I will be.

Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix


Every once in a while, your hands are not yours anymore.

They belong to the infinites of the sky that seem so close but are so far.

The colours; that speak of crimes; seem to pleasantly spread across your hands.

And voluntary actions change into involuntary sensations.

The colours on your hands caress the colours of the vibrant sun.

The soft touches of its rays burn into your timid hands and you feel alive.

It is a mystery worth a million years of experiencing burns on every inch of your colourful and soft skin, isn’t it?

How can damage bring happiness?