The Storyteller

When there was a knock
on the door
I thought it was not you.
I opened the door.
And I was right.
It was not you.

That's how my thoughts
became reality,
where you remained
always as a story that I wrote.

Wide bodied life

Being in the wide bodied
most of the times,
I feel shrunk.
And
realise, that
one life time is not enough
to fill up this space.

Blood Love

If I ignore your moods

and your fanatic efforts to

protect privacy, then

you know,

You are quite charming

on a rainy day.

If I don't take seriously

Stories of those several

others who died in your love,

Then you are quite a

show stopper in a stadium

full of me.

In love, your kisses

hardly ever worked,

But your venom has kept

me addictive for life! 

Limelighted Self

Away from limelight,
although it's sad and lonely,
the Self
opens itself like some
flowers, which prefer to
bloom in the night
creating sunshine in the dark.

This is the time I wake up
and realise how lonesome
was this journey
and how never ending this
is, where
neither the path ever ends
nor the thoughts of you!

Alive

There was a time
when the big Gulmohar
bloomed just where I slept
spreading it's flaming red
carpet just where I walked.
There was a day when,
wherever I looked, my
eyes hit the unseen bird
far away where the sky
dug it's feet. 
There was a place where
rain came gushing down
from the yearning clouds
and danced with
the Savannah, dry and
scorched in the afternoon
Heat.

And there, within it's tall
grass and it's whispering
death, as the stars filled
the silent night sky,
I still lay awake, fulfilling
my part of the promise of
a never ending dream.

Our own dreams

Last night
as insomnia struck,
I woke up and watched my
dreams walk out of my
eyes, perhaps
to sit and dance softly
on yours
as you sleep.
Being on two separate journeys
and holding each others’ hand,
we were never meant
to dream together.

The lost rhymes

Feelings, of late,
hasn't been flowing truthfully
on unfriendly terrains
like the Okavango
does every year, raising hopes to
millions of lives that await its
might.
Feelings, I find, has been
suicidal of late.
Else why should I not breathe
knowing fully well I will die
If I don't,
putting on hold my whole
system, stopping it from
rhyming with you!