I don't tend to change this often !!

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  • pa_luck 3d

    There's a reason
    and it isn't me
    that brings him a smile
    but it's enough
    for me to have one.


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    It's Okay

    There's a sun
    and he ain't on fire
    because of me
    but gleams enough
    to send me a ray.

    There's a march
    and they aren't alive
    ample to sail through
    but they form a queue
    which spares me some space.

    There's a montessori
    and it ain't aging
    along with the banayan tree
    but this spectrum of time
    is the necessary reality check.

    There's a distinction
    and it isn't the differences
    that marks the silhouette
    but shades sufficiently well
    to shape my identity.

    There's a risk
    and i ain't taking it
    after risking it all
    but it does reminds me
    of unseen sides of phantom.

    There's a creator
    and he isn't procreating
    after his human edition
    but it helps my intert state
    as we are running out of ideas.

  • pa_luck 1w

    It's not always concentrated when it's less !


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    When I'm doing nothing
    I'm already climbing down an uphill
    with a bucket splashing out
    its lean division of possibilities.

    Doing anything more accounts
    for the bucket handle tear
    and a tumbling Humpty Dumpty fall.

    Now you either blame my weight
    or my heavy orbs popping up
    for draining the settled stones along
    ruining the remains under a shadow.

    What walks past this
    is a shaking skeleton
    with daunting disbelief
    of losing the broken bucket.

    This weightlessness feels sick
    left unmonitored for itself
    to haunt the belonging holes
    that might be a home for termites.

  • pa_luck 4w

    Why ain't the subconscious self,
    placed between "Quotation Marks"


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    Mistakes are usual and often.
    "I have been sick head of short..
    you know what."
    Oh there, i committed another one.
    "I have been answering them,
    the small pockets in my head."
    In a pattern
    the pulse changes
    and still strives to become the same.

    But mistakes are usual and often.
    "I do that habitually
    and I'm a habit."
    I never can save my roots
    from my slobber
    and wish for a decent fruit
    that serves all.
    I keep chewing the straws,
    but no amount of starch
    ever satisfies me.

    But mistakes, you see are usual and often.
    "whenever i try to fix it for myself,
    i break it for them."
    I tend to change my waters,
    so that nothing settles
    in a sediment.
    And there you see
    a chance to remind me,
    it wasn't right in the first place.

    Mistakes, mistakes are usual and often.
    "Mmm..i guess once you hear me out,
    I'll be mistaken."
    It's all correct and clear
    in my mind
    but a clutter on a call
    to subconscious self.
    "Improvising the mistake,
    makes another one."

    "Now, don't you dare call it life."

  • pa_luck 8w

    ek arse baad yakeen aya
    aya naa tu to yakeen aya

    jo naa hone ka malaal
    hone par nahi hota

    uske hone par bhi
    yakeen nahi aya !


  • pa_luck 8w

    How do you describe,
    Belonging to someone as !


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    I Have You

    A velcro venture pricking
    and sticking the same roots
    shutting the screams on laying.

    A zipper locking into bridges
    sitting on cross legged chains
    jutting the jittery jargons.

    A bandage on field of fiddle
    clapping the oppositions chest
    ironing the dead space of dirt.

    A tape turned and twisted
    into a climber on crawl
    surrounded by something taut.

    A buttoned hole hooked
    tucked into sheets on show
    a perfect projection of premise.

    A grip on ground of battles
    tagging the javelin on throw
    while the digging dwells deeper.

    A gum ball on fabric wall
    badging a bribe for resting
    for the rest of its perpetuity.

  • pa_luck 8w

    What if love wasn't desperate enough to live,
    humanity would have taken over the ashes !


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    Disgust of Desperation

    The sanity seems skippable
    pushing prudence for paroles
    rummaging through the eclipses
    and halos won't suffice.

    A hat drops while bending over
    exposed creases, evacuated clefts
    drooling saliva through clenched teeth
    stating satiation of wiping off the rest.

    An itch, out of reach
    and nails growing inwards
    a transitory taste teases
    the tongue licking the losses.

    Subletting spaces
    tied to the outlines
    overhearing the smoke
    missteping over flint stones.

    A spur that hooks the flying skirt
    a reminder of being held before
    a flag of narrow escape
    that just counts as a breather.

    A respite of rebounds
    over a base of bubbles
    scraping the sniffs
    in a boulevard of breathlessness.

    A skip over line of resistance
    a rescue from, a remedy for
    a puzzled puddle of ballots
    nothing stays if not caught today.

  • pa_luck 9w

    As a cat I know, how it feels to be human !

    (Astrophe- The feeling of being stuck on earth)


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    I lost my tail to humans
    for a better reason than humanity
    for being a bridge, a layover
    from steady steps to stilletos.

    I tuned my reflexes to zero
    in line with subtle and sublime gestures
    and now i walk down the ramp
    holding the jaw drops straight.

    I tamed my temper as smirks
    while talking was always a task
    a smile before a danger
    a laughter after committing the crime.

    I preserved my paws from paints
    for a watch away from one
    which homos never realised
    how trails lead to terrors.

    I saved my skittish innocence
    to be shared through a spyhole
    showered on like a darling
    taken back as the mistress.

    I gave up my fluidity for fools
    and sat back on my spine
    watching them adapt me
    while i passed through their phases.

  • pa_luck 10w

    A docile dog
    a customary chain
    the penance is preordained !


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    The Plentiful, they penniless !

    Some curse the seeds,
    of the luscious watermelon,
    that robs the palate,
    of a sumptuous serendipity.

    Some don't even care,
    of planting seeds,
    sleeping by the roadside,
    with their women,
    whose water breaks,
    like a routine without restrictions.

    An umbrella that looks out of
    stained sunglasses under summer
    covers the clothes and cakes
    with candles that merge with time.

    Another umbrella stands in the soil
    turning water into water sheds
    a home under shadow of its window
    saving his earth from draught of showers.

    Some are always short of wardrobes,
    for workaround of their waste,
    they curse the occasions,
    which makes them redundant.

    Some don the rags,
    covering their tattered wisdom,
    they wait for the occasions,
    which patchwork their pride.

    A dip on the pulchritudinous pinks
    as a pimple scores all the attention
    a lighter shade of life they lust
    while the rust never meets their skin.

    A peeling piping red they sweat
    which dyes their death into life
    that flows like the leaking roof
    while they keep wiping the dribble.

  • pa_luck 11w

    Read it off, Tear it off.
    It wasn't meant to be written.


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    Learned by heart, Love !

    Love was the front bencher
    yours faithfully for-ever
    devotee on a pedestal
    sleepless sound of helplessness
    regardless of reminiscences.

    A static story of success
    untill shaken up by a paper plane
    that casually patted its patency
    questioning a black hole behind.

    The empty empathic class room
    with no seats following its back
    shuddered it, of its short sightedness,
    of fighting it all against self.

    Love was the ideal student
    yours sincerely since ages
    too obedient about the obvious
    too cautious about the conviction
    but with no plan B in its syllabus.

    An austerity practiced for perseverance
    the supposed cupid vector
    unidirectional and unidimensional
    the sacramental statement of its fairness.

    A vow like a vaccination
    presumes a guard against
    any external affair beyond the fence
    once taken, once broken.

  • pa_luck 14w

    I dread the day,
    I'll face the fact !


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    mujhe mere kal par
    bas etna bharosa hai,
    ki mere beete kal ka bharam
    aaj bhi zinda hai !