Colour of your gaze

I could keep writing for years 

And never run out of words for you

But I don’t know how to put these mere alphabets together 

To paint your eyes 

And their transcendent hues 

I don’t know if  I can ever exactly describe their colour

And how they looked under the sun 

When we were walking into the woods 

And you smiled at me 

I cross my heart 

I wouldn’t call myself a poet 

Until I find the word for it-

The tincture 

that haunts my thoughts

With sunkissed horizons and sunset blues  

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Writings on the wall


Years, I have spent years

Looking at the walls 

Of this tatterdemalion citadel 

Splattered with my innards 

And bleeding heart 

Years, I have seen just one colour, 

This indigo muck paint on my hands

And Papers on the wall 

Saying the same things,

Different words, 

In want of what?

Sympathy?

 Empathy ?

Attention?

Compassion?

Years , I have spent years, 

Almost seven,

Sitting at this table

Now my hands tremble

And it’s tempting to drop that pen

Never write, never feel, never think

And never spell a word again

Wish upon my boneĀ 


If only, humans had wishbones 
It would be easier 

to trap scampish desires 

Beating their way out of tired,

infiltrated rib cages

They help birds fight,

Well may be we could win the constant fight

Between what the heart wants and what it should

And may be all those times 

When we kill our own dreams 

Or watch them getting trampled 

under some other feet 

And a sigh of “only if” gets stuck in our throats 

They would get caught in our wish bones instead 

Which when pulled apart 

Will atlast let out a sigh of hope 

And make wishes come true