My anonymity and privatenness is compromised. Logging off from here. Catch me elsewhere if you can.

Would you fight for your soul or would you let it go or would you not let it matter?

Where the heart
is set to return
shall the sentient
soul's eternity turn.

The rust that settles upon my love
doesn't let it shine.
The dust that settles upon my heart
doesn't let it beat.

Terinja, purinja, telinja!

One day I'd like to say, "I'm a hermit, in search of my hermitage."

Line of the day: Living a life they want to run away from.

salted Waves and
caramelised Wounds,
how do you do?

overturned page,
ice-cream that's had.
melted or fermented thought?

How I wish
I could swim
in your eyes.

I don't know how this
orange-winged butterfly has entered my room
when the doors and windows stand closed to
the force of the rains.
i see it fluttering about, though,
just as the soul,
not knowing what to do.
why, does it have to be set free?
won't it find its own way
like the way it found its way here?
oh, I just see it has found peace
next to my bathroom slippers
as lackadaisical and unassuming
as a wonderer should be.

Moonodialogue!

knock, knock!

oh, hi, young moon of this night!
how do you do?
how do you do?
very well, waning as I wax. this nutty lunar phase, I tell you!
has anyone serenaded you yet?
yes, but they always sing in a language only they understand and not what I would like to hear.
hm, I'll put in a word with all the poets of this world that fleetingly describe you for the one they see in you.

The distant past held remnants of the future, as if it were a dream, just as the present.

What do you tell eyes that have lost their poetry?
What do you tell eyes that yearn to be taken somewhere?

One after the other
fleeting moments
crush my belief,
question my faith,
and make me smoke.

Smoke
like a tea pot.

Butterflies running in the mind.
Butterflies running away.
-
I want to run away.
I want to run in my mind.
-
If I were asked what love is, depending on when I'm asked I'd probably say, "That which causes a poetic silence in your life."

Figment of Imagination

Vandana wrote.. "It still hurts. Sometimes, though, to feel better, I listen to the special ringtone I'd kept only for your number. It's called the "Garden Waltz." Each time I listen to it, it takes me right back to those times my heart would flutter every time you'd call and at the same time, it makes me hope you would call some day soon."

In some limbo,
someone
gave me something
to remind me
that I was broken.

I wish I wasn't.

To see the waters from the shore or the shore from the waters?

Give me colour
so I can paint with words
and varnish with soul
those staid walls and floors.