-

-

Words just scribbled

as the pen
penned the pain.

-

-

-

I have learnt to accept
my dark circles
I m no longer getting rid of them


They kind of whisper a prologue
to my story

-

Clung to the cuffs
of your shirt, a little
longer than I should've.

Now that you've ripped it
away from me, my palms
bleed loneliness.

-

And that's how it goes..
People leave. Memories stay.
And they come back, just to leave again.
Memories turn to verses..

One day the dripping ink comes to a stop,
So does your breath..
Then, you leave too.

But your verses, They stay.
Scribbled in some diary of yours,
Still waiting for people to come back.

-

The thing is,
I owe you
the scribbled pages,
you owe me
the petrarchan sonnets.

~Madhur

-

"I hate being sexy," she exclaimed.

"Remember the locked hands in handcuffs," he proclaimed.

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