A poet is a poet only when he is writing a poem. I relay information to my senses and it captivates you all. My words are limited to places. A meaningless thought is still there roaming between the cortex and the stem but bytes don't affect the course of life, do they? A day could get gloomy if you keep your eyes moored on the tip of a leaf until when transpiration sucks out the green from it. But again you slouch like a slob and write about it infront of people you don't know. Things look under control when you aren't alone, but when you sit in a balcony filled with green you can't help but think of rain. Rain isn't a mystery under Science's lens, it spews out acid when it feels violated. Infact I am like a garbage box too, if you keep me full of shit, I stink. When the sky appears orange during sunset the heart is filled with a feeling of longing for something. That something is what people search, if they don't find it within themselves they look for others who have it. They curl themselves on the sofa and make imagination their muse. They paint it, they write about it. The girl on the sidelines of a dilapidated city surely looked pretty, she wore an orange maxi and her lips wore a fluttering anxiety. A photographer clicked her photos and vogue signed a contract. The essence of an incoming Diwali is seeping into the hearts of believers, we left a festival behind and Durga Ma crossed Ganga on a boat, supposedly. It poured down heavily on Vijayadashami, Ma paddled through the junks of the river, thinking about all that there is in the world. I smile a lot nowadays, and it makes me realise the importance of lips. When you kiss someone you exchange saliva, you exchange a desire, you exchange a tune of being in sync. It's a moment when your dwindling thoughts align.
Just this for today, too much for writing, too much of sitting at a place and imagining.
~Beloved~ //Sauntering together on the thorns But why only i felt the pain?//
Red blood raging in my veins,'coz' some pages of my tenderness are been torn apart,Don't wash my blues 'let me',write vows on The stagnant water And the sky emulate Spring caressed the sakura,left the scars on the cheeks,How can love tatto the scars? I try to fit myself on the canvas of His life but unfortunately my soul Did not fit in it and my love was Overflowing with the paint of pain I thought that love would last for ever I was wrong~
~Wife~ Vermilion shinning on the forehead,I tied the knots of seven promises,From the veins of my heart His love was my jewellery,His hug was my warm abode I am loyal as the poets Poetries ,Lips painted with burises,wearing the bangles of The hopes and ring of Eternal love, I got paralysed From the sun stroke My death was uncertain and we departed,Tears had the traffic in my eyes I thought that love would Last for ever I was wrong~