It is ironic

indeed,

how breathtaking

one can be,

whenever

sadness

starts to fuel

their inks.

i built a tower of cards

and there you go

knocking it down

with a single breath

knocking me with it

making me f

                    a

                      l

                        l

                               —fall for you

tried to touch 

that heart of yours,

and learning

that my fingers 

are not slim 

enough to fit

the spaces

between

your rib cage. 

Think.

Think,

Ways to

Overcome

This wall

You face every

now and then,

Think.

Thinking,

Just how easier

Things could be

If you can stuff

This hungry mind

Of yours,

The same way

You stuff your

Mouth with

Food.

All is well but then you walked

And swept in like a wind,

Once uncluttered

Now messy-piled

Once a greyscale county

Now a lit-up scenery,

Once a lit-up scenery

Now a greyscale memory

I loved this guy once,

Blew everything in it's place

Walking in without effort

And left

—with ease. 

                   Love—is like loving rain and fearing frogs. 

  Fear of being swayed by your feelings given the knowledge an attack may come anytime

                                                 or worse—when you are completely under it's spell.

He who saved me from sadness,

I gave him my twinkling dimples

He who gave me sugarcoated words and gestures,

I gave him a signature of my lips

He who told me broken promises and lies,

I gave him second chances

He, who asked for forgiveness

I gave him indulgence

He, who made me a journal of tears,

I gave him poetries he deserves

He who left me with a bleeding eye,

And I gave him myself, ready for another try.

I saw him today

Hands caressing a bouquet

And love—his eyes says

His look on me strays,

Our heartbeats in disarray

And theirs—in array.

Some poems

Are made out of

Sunshines

How for a second brief

Through the meadow it peeks,

The warmth it gives off

Melting cold hearts

Some are made

Out of drizzles

Its reverberating sound

As it first touches

This cold grey land

Where, in each others' arms

This biting chill, we melted

But this verse

Which I made out

Of thread and needles

A stitch to the heart

Out to unforgotten memoirs

Of a sullen past

—a closed wound, opened

All over again.