~At that moment some sickness met him~
My Soul Self got Fever Fits in the mirror ;
We were not strangers - Neither friends
Should I secretary cry n wipe the tears?

He wanted to be close, make friends
But my fat Ego stood •between• us!
So, eventhough we want, we could
Never see eye to eye the least !!

I wasn't proud yet my loud ego
Kept on standing between us,
Except some random tweets
Our eyes could never meet

Now he is not well
My ego has left
I get strange
Fever fits!
Can
We
Be
F
R
I
E
N
D
S
?
Come back soon
~We can be friends~

-

Writing about writing is such fun
Just like thinking about thinking!
But, when you do it as you do
You go on sinking and sinking

You sink in letters, words, phrases,
In sentences; simple - complex
Or, if it is a poem you write
You may end up in lines purplexed

As you go on writing, on writing
In your own way of writing
Eyes keep on blinking and blinking
As you keep on writing about writing...

-

- How to give life to a dying thing -

Feel pity for its half-withered leaves
And feel the breeze as it breathes
Praise all good that it's got
Without talking about what it lost

Water it with love and water with care
Eventhough you don't get any share
Be a little kind to the broken branches
Water it well giving it chances

All gets beautiful all gets fair
With newly born leaves
With its greenish-fair.

-

In sleepless nights
My pen gets wings
And flies away
From its strings

I just follow
His routes wired
And find myself
Pretty cheered

Then we return
Like twins drunk
And creep in a verse
Just for fun...

My pen gets crazy
And pretty wierd
Well, I'm his master!
Pretty cheered... !

"We are crazy"
I burst into laughter
My pen follows me
And my laughter.

"Are we twins?"
I feel fear!

-

I sometimes feel lost
By the lost-wood
Then, I sit and count the pettals
Of a butterfly;
And paint the wings of a bud;
Sing along with the fireflies ;
And dance to the beat of roots;
Next to my frozen-feet.

Then, I slowly very slowly
Get back on my tract
And count the wings of butterflies
And paint the petals of buds
And... then I smile. 🙂

//Crazy to the core//

-

I wanna write
But my thoughts are on strike;
So I barely paint
Some words I know
On a canvas I know not!

-

I love rain
But, I look for
My umbrella
Not to get wet
When it pours;

I love the moon
And the stars,
Yet, I have to close
My windows
When it's too late;

I love the sun
And its soft rays,
On my forehead,
Yet, I need some shade
Before I get burnt;

I love the wind,
Breeze is my blessing,
But, I have to close
My windows again
When the wind is wild.

-

She isn't happy when you call her "Sexy"
For being sexy is not her aim
She loves to look pretty, pretty - beautiful
Being beautiful is an inward game

Pretty faces and fabulous physiques
Are often praised by many a man
She too loves to be praised for her looks
For she is meant to be praised by man

Being thus praised by men and women
Happier she becomes, her inherent fame
Hiding herself from all other men
She can look Sexy to her Man

Being beautiful is her inward desire
Which is to be felt with an inward fire.

-

A Song

Dancing in the moon
For no beat at all
While the world's deep asleep
Dancing in the moon
To wash away the fatigue of noon
Dancing in the moon
To refresh the sole soul soon

Dancing with the moon
To the beat of Her silvery shoon
Dancing with the moon
And make the whole sky a stage
Dancing with the moon

Dancing in the moon
Underneath Her eyes
Dancing for the moon
For she is a Moon's child

Dancing in the moon...

-

Roses ...
They call my name
Should I run or return ?

-