To the Expectant
You are layering up your expectations, Like I am expected To run on your word. You want of me To become Your idea of me, While my ideas smother in my head. What of my expectations? What of them, you ask. Who would hurt the most
The Old Man and the Sea Review – Ernest Hemingway
Reading The Old Man and the Sea was therapeutic for me. While there waddled the story of an old man having a hard time at sea, I chose to retrace it by mapping it against our life. That’s exactly what it is like – life.
Strangers on the Bus
It was the same routine. Like a daily monotonous job. That part of life we have no control over. And we are forced to sit through it brooding through what our life has become and what would it become. But that unpleasant stream of thoughts
The Boy Who Cried Love
Moments pure wash up my gate, My eyes hold rivers of faint memories That pour out one by one, Like a touch of a girl in my hand – Soft and not from this world. Of whispers sent through the wind When I was too
Drowning Stars
City lights, You have drowned all my stars! Can I hate you more for Painting over my canvas? The quiet time of the lovers, Who used to prod for answers in the vast Had a world to explore; You have smeared it with your din.
The Philosopher’s Lullaby
Do you go to bed to eat your day? To make your misery go away? Or because your eyelids fall Whenever you try to stay awake? Are you waiting for a point in time To snooze yourself till you reach there? But all the unpleasantness
Our Time
You are thinking about my world In your world, I am a dream You can wipe out With a mere thought Spent on someone else. I will be gone in your momentary disregard For the better part of the day, But it doesn’t work that
Crossroads
I have four ways to go, When I pick one, I find another four Down the road When I am on one, I think about the other three I left behind. What if one of them Held a different face? That would have taken me
That Place You Visit Everyday
Walls are closing in, Everyday I am here I smother myself a little, Yet I shoehorn myself in Into the world’s most hated place; When you are not in love, Everything turns into distaste. Aren’t we checking into a stockade Of chasm to find our
Utopia
When you are loved for every breath you make, Praised for every step you take, When you ask you get your own realm of space, When you walk and you reach a place, When you talk and they lose the presence around, When you are