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Showing posts from March, 2022

The primary colours of heart

Red  When the heart blooms with piercing gaze of a lover across the balcony on a breezy summer evening  Blue  When the arid loneliness pinches like a thorn in a grocery mart when shopping alone amidst cackles of joy  Yellow  When the kindness of a friend touches the heart like the warmth of the sun on a winter mornning Green  When the pasture of your kindness decides to recycle the suitcase of your past into a sand castle and you blow it like a dandelion

Ghost Town

This city is made of ghosts The ones living - are bereft of life Men and women  are awaiting death, And living on borrowed breath In this town, The ghosts have riches, aplenty But to share, they've nobody If you see closely,  they look hollow too For their figurine is Breathes deceit, old and new

Kitchens

  Kitchens are traumatizing they narrate stories, heard, unheard of bitter fights, that were never solved the stains on the walls will whisper about knives that missed an eye or glass plates that were hurled of women and men who were human but now, to each other, are demon       

I am good. Take Care.

I am tired now. Of "taking care" And saying "I am good" Especially when I am not But, is anybody? wandering on a bridge  between the present and the future And the past, a Hiroshima  We collect pieces now Those hot flaming tears will tell us we are together, uncertain - full of fears we can hold each other and wiggle out or  stay where we are don't say you're good when you're not your tears show right through your cheeks do not veil them as good as you think they do

Mother I see you everywhere now

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  You are: bounty rain on a summer noon that trickles down my palm we share a language now like the breeze, it is calm and like the nurturing wind it embraces me tight mother, you are here I know for now, the heart feels light

Famished

He stopped reading when she stopped writing Her letters grew emaciated, famished with longing her stanzas grew poorer thinking of life without him He would ask her to write stories embroidering life with whim She would pant and write close her eyes for a while imagining him hold the paper close, like he'd hold her and smile but a garden of imagination needs to be watered with care with modern interventions, was there time to spare? they say the distance makes the hearts grow fonder but long distances makes relationships wander