Why does it have to rain this way?
The smell of the wet ground
dampens my heart too much
to not let away my soul
to not let it away
to get wet this way.
After sleepless nights
the mornings come so soon
the darkness of the clouds grips my heart
that whines in your memory
and the sun behind the clouds's in a hurry
as it only gets darker by noon.
AND then it pours,
the waves in my heart suddenly know no shores.
As the feeble boat of self denial
capsizes under its power
my soul's already dancing
with your memories in the shower.

The masochist

The butterfly has to tear its way through cocoon.
Every child has to kick his way through the womb.
Good steel is made passing it
many a times through furnace,
no gold that's not melt well, glows.

God gave me pains to not make me wither
but in an effort to call me hither
If not me then who?
if not now then when?
Who is better built to endure?
Be brave enough to pass through pain's den

Thank you O' lord for choosing me
uplifting me from mere existence
for believing the muscles that support my back
for giving my blood its redness
for making me walk through thorns
to know what flowers mean.

O storm i beckon thee
to test my roots that grip the ground
I am no leaf to sway in your strength
For i have seen the gods will
in stripping all privileges from me
and make you appreciate my naked strength.

Velvet retreat

I thought i could write until,
The sight of yours sent my soul
sailing & playing with the angels in the sky
proved no words could express the emotions i felt.

I thought i could write until,
I tried writing the way your eyes seemed,
how even your shadows refused to
let my mind lie down and ponder.
Like the waves that hug the shore
keep the sand,
your memories incessantly kept my thoughts
stuck in my mind.

I thought i could write until,
I wanted to word the tunes
my heart played when you smiled.
When i wished your love would shower
and i would pull my heart out and let it drench & absorb.
When my mind refused to sleep
kept cherishing the pain of your longing
refusing the pleasure of rest.

Every flower inherits your color and
makes the indigo of my ink seem white.
Every morning that seems to be born in your eyes
makes my dream transcend the boundary of the night

I thought i could write until,
I saw you O' beautiful poetry
and let my pen rest
and let my mind drift
in appreciation of its tranquility.