well read

i prefer thinking to reading...

needn't to say people with lesser imagination read a lot....

moon prewedded

Ooo my love
Let you not miss…
This pre wedded moon
Of tonight
Cause u may not find
The same night
The same star
The same nip in the air
The same moon rushing through thousand clouds
Turbulating and restless
To anneal the virginity of this pre wedded moon
Cause after this moon
U will be you
Me will be me
But not the same….

Enigma

As she bath she remembers,
How had she been,
So ignorant of herself,
Never to look at mirror..
Was the fate of her face…
Never to be free of tangles,
Was the fate of her hair,
skin left unnourished,
aah what kind of a women is she?
ever blissfull, self contained,
bubbly, charming,
and above all a free spirit,
and now that her body as all perfume,
skin as silk, pouts so lusidious,
hair as cascade…
she wonders if she lost herself in this pre wedded moon?

who knows

I could be a psychopathic killer for all he knows......

Home... No more

Exiled to exist in wilderness
Else to be found and killed
Cause I don’t speak the language

I may feel belonged and abode
But they can….

At any point in time
Term me an outsider
To be found and killed

Or to exist nowhere
Almost... or roam as an expatriate

Cause I can’t go back
To the place
From where my ancestors came

To the place which was
My home... but no more….

to bloom again

He arrives at her door to shake off his chilling memories of betrayal, disgust and even lush warmth…. He seems sheltered ….. At peace… the nomad in him is accepted and appreciated…. He is amused for he expects nothing…. ….
She exists as air surrounding him…. As overlapping emotions their existence overlap each other…. synced to each other…
he gives himself to this sync… expects nothing but her surround… silent patient and calm… sooths his soul sooths his wounds … no rush… to fawn him…
he is on exile from memories and she has none. He needs rest while she runs…. Yeh she runs…She runs to shake him for she can’t take his unnerving silence.
He wraps her to be wrapped by her… shuts her earnest eyes in his cloistering hand …To offer one has to have something in possession …. As he offers all “what is left” she wonders what is the meaning of “all what is left”.
The bed sheets are sullied and piano has thick layer of dust on it…. For her to clean and make new for herself…. She would make do… she would cause it cleanses her soul in return… her candid, simple and zero memory soul… she always existed devoid of memories and he was the one to lure her to the slippery path of nurturing emotions and cherishing memories.
she refuses to take “what is left”. Wonders….. Can it be nurtured “what is lost”…. “Given to someone”….. never to return.
It is to be brought back or nurtured again for sure for he doesn’t exist without the immense capability to love, he once possessed...... Rare glimpses of which she sees but can’t catch.... it will have to bloom again ........ as she deserves her share of it

spring it is.... not me

Could spring be ever stopped?

Tweaking its way through the high rise buildings
Showing itself in blossom of a grass plant
Cherishing the everlasting legend of love

Could you ever stop yourself spotting the manifestations of it?

How much higher you build
How much more you defoliate

how much stronger you fortify... against it

Spring has its own ways ...
To remind you
That you are alive ...
And capable of love

a bit less feminine….

They always look at me passing by…
Yeh a head turner I am…
When I walk pass they turn to me…
Never fail to see me… try identifying if I am the same…. They saw last time…
Aah the stare…. Not one not two but endless…. Sea of faces looking at me…
Limlight they say…. Centerstage they say……
But I know the truth…. The very reason they look at me….

Its just that my walk is just a bit less feminine…. as I am always told....
a bit less feminine.... still they all roam around buzz me like bees to nectar.....

If only anyone could rate feminity…. ever...